The Day the Arms Closed
by thesarge400
Summary: Humanity, as a whole, has been deemed 'too violent' as a species to be permitted within the Citadel and Council-controlled space. Follow those who dwell within as civil uprisings and chaos spread across a once-peaceful and grand Citadel.
1. Chapter 1

The Day the Arms Closed

This is a little side thing I decided to do. It was actually just a random idea in my head that started out only days ago, but I felt like I really wanted to write this, so here you go.

Read, review, and as always, enjoy.

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><p>He could feel the eyes all focused on him.<p>

Turian, salarian, asari, volus, elcor, and whatever other species that had eyes, all were focused on him.

Here, _he _was the alien, the interloper. An intruder.

Security mechs lined the walls, every so often a turian honor guard or asari commando waited between the robots. Guns waited in their gray claws or blue hands, fingers brushing against the triggers ever so slightly. One could almost see the animosity that lingered in the Council Chamber's air, as if all the human who stood upon the raised platform had to do was breathe the wrong way to start a gunfight.

He was more worried about the honor guards than the commandos, honestly speaking. Asari as a species and military were dangerous, but nothing compared to the turians in terms of pure militaristic might.

The Council had been in deliberations a long time, nearly an hour. And he was forced to wait, standing there like a moron.

But, such was the price for humanity's last chance to gain acceptance aboard the Citadel.

Adjusting the collar to his suit, he stared back up into the upper levels. Politicians, or at least what passed for politicians, lined the railing. Their hands were locked on the metal barrier as they scanned the waiting human cautiously. He could make out a Spectre or two, loaded to the teeth with weaponry. Above and in the rafters, the human could spot the murky outline of snipers, C-Sec most likely.

It didn't make him feel any better that a police force was here in some respect. No humans were in Citadel Security, and if he blew it today, there would never be. Of course, this _visit _to the Citadel Station wasn't one for humanity's entry into security forces.

No, no, no… this was humanity's attempt at gaining access not only to the Citadel itself, but Council-controlled space, after years of being forced to wait outside like a dog in the rain. A pissed-off dog at that.

And it all made human Ambassador nervous as hell. He coughed into his sleeve as the long-awaited Councilors finally returned from their chambers and onto their respective platforms, high above and in front of the human, separated by a ten foot drop onto a glass floor where some sort of oasis waited on the other side.

The turian Councilor, dressed up in expensive clothes and face paint, eyed the human with his cold gray eyes. He scowled at the human, displaying his spiny teeth. The asari glanced at her comrade, as if her calm demeanor would spread to her avian friend.

It didn't, at least not at first, but his austere look diminished into a simple disapproving glare.

The hooded salarian just watched him with narrowed eyes, one hand tucked under his chin as if he was a thinker. A million things were probably going on inside that salarian's head.

The crowd responded to the Council's return, the dull murmur that filled the chamber before was now replaced by a low wave of conversation. Thralls of different voices reached out across the chamber, wrapping themselves around him.

He didn't like it.

"Ambassador Harland Rowe." The asari Councilor began, silencing the crowds immediately. The human straightened up, placing both hands behind his back while ignoring a bead of sweat that trickled down his left cheek.

"Ma'am." Harland said back politely, offering a respectful nod to the woman. The asari and salarian returned the gesture, the turian didn't. All he did was roll his eyes and cross his arms as his harsh glare refused to subside.

"As you are aware," she began with an icy-calm voice, "humanity's relationship with the galaxy is a tentative one, at best. The Relay 314 Incident was only the beginning of mankind's interaction with the other species of the galaxy."

"And was by no means the last." The turian interjected, voice laden with venom.

Harland was well aware of every conflict that followed Relay 314. The Battle of Tel, the Killing Fields on Kishinev, and the Siege of Shanxi. All of these conflicts were mashed up into what is now known as the First Contact War by humanity, while the turians simply dismiss it all as the Relay 314 Incident.

Hundreds of thousands died on Shanxi alone, and when the Council finally stepped in to stop the bloody fighting, the final death toll was staggering.

The following twenty-eight years have been a struggle for humanity. A fragile reputation was stained with the blood of turians and its own kind, portraying the species as a whole something to that of barbarians. Others had the audacity to claim humans were even worse than the krogan.

The conflict also shaped Earth's view of things, the turians as trigger-happy, murderous pigs.

All the animosity that had been bubbling for nearly thirty years dripped from the turian Councilor as he continued, "_We_," he motioned to his fellow Councilors, "have reviewed your kind's requests for Citadel inclusion and an embassy to represent your species."

Harland nodded, "Yes, and as you can see, through the test groups of a hundred thousand humans allowed temporary asylum on this station have shown peaceful interaction with the other Citadel races, even the turians."

"Hmm." The salarian murmured at first, hand still tucked under his chin. "I have read the reports, Ambassador Rowe, and you do speak the truth. Peaceful interaction was attained."

The turian turned his gaze from the human to his colleague. His mandibles flared as a scowl appeared.

"Then you have also read that from these reports," he quickly said, anger hastening his speech, "have shown a _rise _in crime by nearly thirteen percent." His glare returned to Harland, as if blaming him, "_Violent _crime, ranging from rape, assault, and murder."

Harland's hands went out, palms up, "But you can't argue that-"

"I can argue, human, and I _will_."

The crowd reacted, some cheering for the disgruntled Councilor, others watching on nervously.

"We did not call this Council to argue statistics!" The asari sternly settled, her voice still calm, not truly yelling. She gave another glare to the turian, who returned it. His hands were at his sides now, trembling with rage. Slowly, she turned back to Harland, her voice cool to his ears, "We are here on terms of your species' request of Citadel admittance."

Harland's heart began to race. This is what he'd been waiting for. Five years of hard work coming down to this. All the petitions, all the promises that the Alliance fleet would come into Citadel space only when requested, and all of the attempts at melding mankind into this alien society.

The turian Councilor brought different news as he stepped forward, "We as a Council have deemed humanity too violent a race to be permitted within Citadel and Council-controlled space."

Harland froze, his blood turned into ice.

Cheers and claps erupted from the crowds above.

Mankind was being treated like the goddamned batarians and krogan, and the Council races were cheering on!

His blue eyes found the asari, "Madam Councilor, this cannot be the right decision! We are nothing like the krogan or… or…" Eyes falling to the floor, the Ambassador tried to find the appropriate words. But the salarian cut him off.

"Your species has a very violent history, Ambassador Rowe. Our own studies have shown history repeating itself throughout mankind's existence. You fight for some reason or another, ranging from war to religion to resources. In the end, mankind will be doomed to bury more of its own than raise it."

This was an outrage! A goddamned outrage!

They had no right to make a glaring generalization of humanity like this.

Anger began to seep into Harland's otherwise calm demeanor, "Well if you're going to treat us like this, then maybe you should look at yourselves and your turian _allies_." The man began to pace, as the crowds above began to get uneasy, "The turians fired on _us _first, starting the war! They _nuked _half of Tel, killing millions in the process… and you!" His finger flew up to the salarian, the amphibian taken aback by the human's outburst, "You _developed _the genophage! You helped neuter an entire race, and you're calling us humans the ones with a violent history? You've buried more unborn krogan than you could imagine!"

"Look at your homeworld!" The turian yelled, losing the political etiquette that came from being a Councilor, "Nearly eighty percent of that spirit-forsaken rock is covered in nuclear fallout, fallout coming from your _own _bombs. Its condition is comparable to Tuchanka! Your species is even more self-destructive than that of the quarians."

Harland could feel the C-Sec snipers take aim, ready for him to make a stupid move so they could blow his head off.

"Be assured, Ambassador," the asari interjected, trying to play the mediator, "this decision was not made lightly. We believe this is for the benefit for the whole galactic community, for every species, including your own."

"But, but…" Harland couldn't believe this. "Where will humanity go? If we can't colonize within protected Council space, where do we go from here?"

"There is always the Terminus Systems." The salarian dismissed quickly.

"Pirates and raiders teem from that sector!" Harland pleaded. "Our colonies would be attacked relentlessly! Humanity will be singled out as a whole, other races knowing that we wouldn't have the Council's protection."

The turian huffed, a grin on his face as he spoke over the crowd, "You have your so-called Alliance. Use them to defend your colonies."

The Alliance couldn't be stretched that far out, their numbers too few to protect any new colonies that would eventually pop up.

But as the turian finished his words, the cheers erupted into a full-blown symphony of approval. Harland turned to look into the upper levels, seeing the smiling faces of asari, turians, and salarians. How would one cheer on when a crime was unfolding right before them?

Then the lives of over a hundred thousand people came to Harland's mind, "Councilors, at least let them stay! Those have built lives here for the past five years."

Shaking his head, the salarian adjusted his hood, "That would defeat the purpose of our decision. Rest assured, those who have stayed here will be sent to border worlds for temporary housing."

They were going to deport an entire species from the Citadel. This went against everything this so-called Council stood for, this defied basic sentient rights.

Facing the Council again, the Ambassador pleaded with the asari, "Madam Councilor, _please_. Rethink your decision; humanity _can _meld with the rest of galactic society if you let it! Humanity needs this!"

"I'm sorry, Ambassador, but our judgment is final." Her eyes went to the upper levels, towards her cheering masses. "This Council is adjourned."

Harland felt the large hands of turian honor guards grabbing each of his arms, guiding him towards the exit elevator of Citadel Tower.

The symphony of exuberance from the crowds subsided only a little, before giving way to a thunderous wave of applause.

Defeated, Harland stared at his feet as the guards guided him into the elevator. How was he going to explain this to Alliance Command? His back was against the wall here, specifically told that this was his final chance to secure mankind's future among the Citadel races.

And now he had to go back to Arcturus Station and tell them the news.

Groaning, the elevator came to life as it began its long descent. The human stood in silence with his two turian guards, until about halfway down.

Clearing his throat, the turian to the left of Harland spoke in a low voice, as if worried his comrade might hear him, "If it makes any difference, sir. I think the Council made the wrong choice too."

The alien anxiously shifted from foot to foot, making his bright orange combat armor rattle slightly. Harland kept his eyes on his feet, staying quiet. There was little point in starting a conversation now, Harland didn't have the energy nor did he really care anymore.

The next thing that was most likely going to happen was his head ending up on a pike.

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><p>Review.<p>

Peace.


	2. Chapter 2

The Wards wasn't the prettiest place on the Citadel, but it was where Gavin Romanko had called his home for the past five years. Ever since he volunteered to be relocated from Von Braun Station to the Citadel, things had started to look up for the man.

He opened up his own bar, which had become quite popular among C-Sec officers and the various other denizens that populated the Wards. Mostly aliens, not a lot of humans on this section of the station.

Gavin got to meet various other races though, made good friends of most, including the turians. They weren't the monsters that they were perceived to be during the First Contact War, most were simple men and women, doing the same things as everyone else. A lot of them had some pretty interesting stories to tell, and Gavin had plenty to share of his own, so he was never bored even on the slow nights.

Of course, Gavin's tenure hasn't been perfect. There was always the occasional drunkard who refused to leave or the rowdy group of young guns who decided to start a fight with others across the room.

Sometimes the fight would be over with quickly, damage to property minimal, other times not.

But the barkeep found a way to quell those problems as of recently. He had recently purchased a shotgun that he kept with him behind the bar at all times.

Yes, he had a permit for the weapon, C-Sec permitted him to keep it at home or in the bar. Thankfully, he's never had to fire it yet.

Today had been a slow day for business, something big was going in Citadel Tower, calling for a lot of officers to run security. It had also attracted a lot of citizens, thinning his clientele even more.

Only a few resided within his humble abode today, three old turians drinking together in a corner and a couple sitting up at the head of the bar, an asari and a human woman. They were holding hands, speaking to each other in hushed tones. Another thing that had shown up ever since humanity stepped aboard the Citadel five years back, interspecies relationships.

When Gavin first stepped off the boat, humans kept mostly to themselves. Then every year, humans, both male and female, branched out. Turians and asari primarily, but even _volus_ on occasion. That always made the barkeep chuckle. Seeing a stubby, suit-covered alien walk in with a woman twice his size was always entertaining to see.

Gavin on the other hand, wasn't so luckily with the opposite sex.

He fumbled his words whenever a woman seemed remotely interested in him. Which recalled one time a woman walked in and kept chatting him up, and after closing time they stayed behind and shared a few drinks together. This lady was a turian working with the maintenance teams that helped keep the Citadel running.

He decided to give it a go, hoping for the best.

But Gavin had one drink too many, and mentioned to the woman that it was hard discerning the female turians apart from the men. The lady showed just how sharp her talons were as she struck him hard across the cheek before promptly leaving. He still had scars on his face from that night.

Sighing, Gavin propped his elbows up on the head of the bar, shoving a few bottles of various alcohols out of the way as he did. Activating his omni-tool, he dialed up the volume on the far vid screen.

He noticed it was a news feed, and displayed in big bold letters…

'_**Breaking News, Council Rules on Act 24-21H'**_

An asari newscaster appeared on screen just as the volume peaked.

"_Earlier this morning, the Council ruled on Act 24-21H, which allows human asylum on the Citadel." _

Gavin leaned forward, the couple to his left turned to the screen as well. He hadn't been paying attention to the news lately, only hearing brief mentions that the Act was about to expire. No one really talked about what would happen if the Act didn't get renewed, and that worried a lot of people. Including the barkeep. Regardless, Alliance newscasts assured that humanity would have a more permanent foothold on the station soon, though.

Gavin huffed.

Time to see if those assurances were truthful or not.

"_Alliance Ambassador Harland Rowe visited the Council to demonstrate mankind's accomplishments while aboard, but his efforts were in vain, it seemed." _Gavin clenched a fist, narrowing his eyes, _"The Council has denied renewal of the Act, and has ordered a Citadel-wide deportation order to come into effect."_

What? Deportation?

To his left, the couple gasped in tandem, the human pressing her hands against her stomach in shock.

The newscaster continued, _"All humans will be given four days to collect belongings from their respective businesses and homes. On the fifth, C-Sec officers and Council representatives will guide human citizens to transport shuttles, taking them to the border worlds for temporary housing and-"_

Gavin shut the vid screen off, unable to stand it anymore.

He glanced at the woman to his left, who stared at him right back, fear in her eyes.

Why did the Council do this? How could they possibly justify a station-wide deportation of an entire _species_? How could they rationalize that for the people who've built lives here, just like Gavin?

Panic filled the barkeep. He could _not _go back to the colonies. Batarian slavers could attack whole towns and cause untold destruction, physically and psychologically. To see all the unfit men and women lined up and shot to death, to see children dragged away from the corpses of their parents, to be forced to watch as alien thugs raped your best friend, right in front of you…

Conditions aboard the Von Braun were no better. Cramped, dirty, and not enough food to go around were the first in a myriad list of problems aboard that space station.

The Alliance 'saviors' were abusive and couldn't give a shit about refugees.

All of this forced Gavin to fight for a better life, and when the chance came along for him to transfer to the Citadel, you can be damn sure he took it.

And now… And now he had five days to pack up everything he had and just leave? He needed to think.

In a shaky voice, Gavin announced, "Bar's closed people, t-time to go." The asari and human left immediately, not saying a word. But the turians stayed in their corner, still drinking away. More annoyed than scared now, the barkeep repeated in a low tone as he ran a hand through his short hair, "I'm closing up. Beat it."

One of the aliens turned to him and gruffly stated, "You don't close for another three hours. We want our drinks."

"I said get out!"

The three turians stood, "And we said we wanted our damn drinks."

Kneeling behind the head of the bar, Gavin reappeared holding his shotgun. He pumped it once, "And I said get the hell outta my bar!"

He didn't want to use the gun, not at all. But if they didn't leave…

The aliens wised up as they quickly stumbled out the front door, groaning in anger. Following the former customers, Gavin slammed the doors behind the turians and locked them down. He needed to think, to get away from everything else for a few hours.

This was his _home_, the Wards, this bar, the shitty apartment complex he lived in. All of it was his.

He pressed his back against the locked doors, dropping his shotgun as he slumped to the floor. Gavin's head fell into his shaking hands, and for the first time in nearly seventeen years, he began to _cry_.

What was he going to do?

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><p>So, here's my plan. The first few chapters will introduce the major players throughout this little tale of mine, all just after humanity being banned from the lovely Citadel.<p>

Hope you enjoyed, drop a review if you wish.

Peace.


	3. Chapter 3

Arcturus Station. The nerve center of the Systems Alliance.

Here vessels ranging from the smallest of dogfighters to the largest of dreadnoughts docked, repaired and refitted, before being sent out into Alliance-controlled sectors. Sadly, thanks to the Council, there weren't many sectors to patrol. Ever since First Contact, the Council took the side of the turians when peace treaties were being signed. Mankind was forbidden to enter Council-controlled systems without heavy escort, nor could they colonize any planets.

Typical whitewashing of the un-favored side in a battle.

But for nearly three decades, humanity took it all in stride, did its best to prove to the Council they weren't like the krogan or batarians, they could be something great.

Humanity _gave _the Council medi-gel, a medical miracle that saved countless lives, alien and human alike. Humanity _gave_ the Council unprecedented access to their military databases, a bridge of good faith. Humanity _gave _the Council everything that could have possibly eliminated any doubts about the new coming species from Earth.

And the Council _gave _them all an eviction notice. The proverbial middle finger.

Now, Ambassador Harland Rowe was being guided through the hallowed halls of Arcturus Station, flanked on each side by marines, clad in full combat armor. Rifles were held tightly in their hands, pistols on their hips.

None of them said a word to Harland, ever since he stepped off the shuttle that had docked with the station. The Ambassador felt like it was one of those old twentieth century war movies, the good guy is being led out to a field to be executed by his captors, only to be rescued at the last second by the cavalry.

But this wasn't one of those old movies, and Harland wasn't getting any cavalry.

The defeated man observed the halls of the station with wonder, though. She was a technological triumph. Housing barracks, training areas, and enough mess halls for several divisions of soldiers was no small accomplishment. Add that on top of the fact there were enough dry-dock stations to house entire sections of a whole fleet, and you had one hell of a space station.

He was being led to what the higher-ups in the Alliance called the Nexus, the situation room for the Admirals of the Navy. Here he would receive judgment for his recent failure on the Citadel, and he would have to explain why he didn't deserve capital punishment.

Or worse… Wasteland duty.

Harland shivered at the thought.

"_Greetings, Ambassador Rowe." _A cool, synthesized voice kindly greeted, following Harland as he marched down the hall. Just a faint trace of an English accent dwelled within its computerized voice.

"Hello, Nirvana." The Ambassador replied with equal generosity.

"_I've done all I could to quell the Admirals' anger, but they want blood, and they're willing to crucify in there." _Nirvana warned, worry in its voice.

Harland understood the worry. Nirvana had been more or less his partner when working with the Admirals here on Arcturus Station. It had collected numerous bytes of information regarding everything that happened aboard the Citadel, allowing mankind to see how it had been progressing over the past five years with the different species. And know all of that went down the toilet.

The main hallway that led up to the Nexus was lined with elaborate paintings of battles and great leaders, from various wars and militaries. To his left, he could see Americans and Germans fighting in the harsh winter snow, during the Battle of the Bulge. He saw Admiral Villeneuve's French warships crushed by the British at the Battle of Trafalgar. Crusaders fought against Muslims for Jerusalem, all in the name of God.

To his right, he saw the eyes of the late Vice Admiral Anderson staring at him. That man was lauded as a hero beyond words for staying behind as the nukes consumed the eastern hemisphere, wiping out millions of civilians and soldiers alike in an instant.

His death became the rallying cry of sorts. 'Remember Anderson!', posters would shout, showing the man's stony figure as mushroom clouds consumed the background.

Harland shivered again, this time as his eyes fell upon the thick doors that separated the hallway from the Nexus. Two marines stood at either end of the door, rifles in their paws as well. Their eyes narrowed as the Ambassador approached, their fingers twitched ever so slightly as they noticed him.

Wasn't exactly a warm welcome.

He halted before the door, and the marine in front of him and to his left began to scan him with his omni-tool for weapons or any biotic amps, before beginning to frisk him with rough hands to make sure.

Harland sighed. He had been scanned and frisked now four times before, all times nothing had turned up on his person. With that, the marine nodded to his friend, and they turned and opened the outermost door to the Nexus.

Next stop, decontamination. After that, crucifixion.

Harland marched through the door, the marine guard that flanked him halted and turned the other way, the Ambassador no longer their problem.

Sighing, the cooling spray of decon-chems drizzled over Harland.

A ghostly image of a woman appeared to his right. Her hair was short, a few loose strands dangled in the front. Skin was a pale blue with tinges and streaks of purple every now and again, the same went for her eyes.

Her body was practically a Greek sculpture of a goddess, no flaws to be found, no clothes to be worn. Slowly, her eyes found Harland's and she gave a weak smile. _"Hello, Harland."_

"Nirvana." He simply nodded. The human couldn't bring himself to smile. He hadn't been able to smile for years.

Clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck, Harland glanced towards the far end of the decontamination chamber, "So, uh…how bad is it in there."

"_I'm scared, Harland. For you."_

"Damn." He huffed. "_That _bad?"

The projection shifted on her feet anxiously, _"They've talked of what happened at the Citadel. They weren't happy."_

"Well, that isn't exactly shocking."

"_Some have called you weak and incompetent, spineless even. A few wanted Udina in your place back on the Citadel."_

"Please." Harland sighed, rolling his eyes. He's danced this dance before. "If we put that man up at the plate, all he'd do is get us kicked out sooner. Plus he doesn't even dress all that well. I mean, have you seen those shoes he wears? Did his mom get-"

A holographic finger went up to his lips, and though he couldn't feel it, the message was conveyed.

Nirvana smiled, _"You're rambling again."_

A mechanical voice, very much unlike Nirvana's, announced in a cold tone, **"Decontamination complete. Subject may proceed into Nexus."**

Gritting his teeth, Harland nodded to the glowing woman in front of him, "Wish me luck."

"_You don't believe in luck…" _She retorted sadly, slowly moving her hand to 'cup' his left cheek, _"But…good luck, Harland. Don't do anything stupid."_

Backing away from her image, the Ambassador shrugged as he said with weak sarcasm, "What? Me, stupid? Never."

With that, the man turned for the far end of the room and marched for it. Sweat built up on his forehead as the door in front of him parted, revealing the room he feared entering. Four men populated the usually crowded room at the moment, three of which Harland knew personally.

Current Vice Admiral Kalan McCordus stood before a wall of vid screens, some displaying locations of Alliance fleets, others news feeds, and two currently in front of him were… schematics of the Citadel.

Next to him, was Rear Admiral Mikhailovich, staring at the screens with intent.

Nervously pacing back and forth was Admiral Gustav Zahretsky, who wrung his service cap in his hands with great fervor.

Harland didn't know the man to the far left, staring out the viewport into the inky expanse of space, but the rank on his shoulders denoted him as a Commander.

The vid panels showing the Citadel's schematics disappeared as McCordus turned, his gray eyes immediately locked in on the Ambassador.

McCordus was one of the 'old-breed' of Admirals, some of the same men who've been around since First Contact and before that, way before the Alliance truly mattered to anyone. His wrinkled features and slowly receding hairline showed years of stress, a scarred left cheek showed what a turian's blade had done to him. This man had seen fleets fall, cities wiped out in nuclear fire, millions die, and yet, he kept his sanity through it all. He was a fitting replacement for Anderson, after Earth fell.

Mikhailovich, on the other hand, was part of the new-breed. No scars on his middle-aged skin, his eyes had yet to see the true horrors of war.

"Rowe." McCordus nodded slowly, tracing the scars along his cheek with three fingers. "I wish we could meet under better circumstances. I usually enjoy you're company."

"As do I, Admiral. As do I."

Mikhailovich was quick to end the greetings, though. "We don't have time for idle chit-chat, Ambassador. There are many important matters to discuss. Like you're failures as our emissary."

Zahretsky kept pacing.

Sighing, McCordus crossed his arms, "Yes, the Admiral's right. Excuse me for being so blunt, Ambassador, but what the _hell_ happened? First I get reports that we'll have a longer tenure on that damned station, and now humanity is being given the boot?"

Here we go.

Quickly recounting the past few months deliberations, Harland explained that the crescendo of these talks had humanity being deemed 'too violent' to remain in Council space. Now, as they spoke, the Council was beginning a deportation order all over the Citadel, evicting any and all humans.

"So it's like the quarians and the geth now, is it?" Mikhailovich sighed. "At least they didn't ban quarians from the station. Why are we being treated like this?"

"_If I may, Rear Admiral." _Nirvana appeared in the center of the room, between the Ambassador and the Admirals, _"There appears to be great residual hostility from the First Contact War, especially from the turians."_

A sigh from McCordus, then a wave of his hand, "That's to be expected, Nirvana."

"Honestly, Rowe. I see little point in letting you're little AI pet speak when-"

"Nirvana has been an aide to the Alliance for the past three years, and an invaluable one at that." McCordus turned to his comrade, not in the mood for disregard to valuable resources, "You will respect her as you would me, Admiral. Are we clear?"

Mikhailovich's jaw tightened, "I will show _it _respect, sir." He turned to Nirvana's holographic form, "My apologies."

"_As I was saying," _she continued, ignoring the man's half-hearted apology, _"with the hostility at its current state, this conclusion wasn't exactly unforeseen. As you've noticed yourself, Admiral McCordus, our relations with the turians haven't really improved since First Contact. Especially when it comes to business and military agreements."_

"Are you saying the turians might've turned the tables on us?"

Harland was the one to answer, "Yes sir, it would seem that way."

"Preposterous!" Mikhailovich shouted, "We've been nothing but poster children for that damn Council, especially the turians! We've jumped through hoops for them."

What he said was true. Humanity had given so much to their alien counterparts, some claimed too much.

Mikhailovich turned to his superior, bearing his teeth like a feral dog, "Failure like this can't be tolerated, sir. Rowe should be made an example of. To show those aliens we don't let failure go unpunished, I suggest Wasteland duty."

Tensing, Harland hoped he could avoid that suggestion. Inspecting the ruins of a dead continent didn't appeal to him, nor did dieing slowly of subsequent radiation poisoning.

"Out of the question." The Vice Admiral quickly denied, allowing the Ambassador's tense muscles to relax. "Harland has fought for the Alliance for years. We are not barbarians, no matter how hard others may want to believe we are."

"Well in any case, we can't sit idly by as we are forced out of a place where we have _earned _admission." Mikhailovich continued, unable to be swayed, "Thousands of people will be relocated to border worlds, and then what? Our colonies out in the Terminus, where our patrols are spread thin enough as it is? We can barely protect our damned mining worlds."

Zahretsky spoke up for the first time, a thick Ukrainian drawl wrapped around each word, "Maybe we should view this as an opportunity. Manifest Destiny?"

A choked laugh came from the Rear Admiral, "Manifest Destiny? Please, this isn't cowboys versus Indians here. We can't expand into Council space anymore and you've seen the Terminus Systems. They may fight like savages out there, but they're not armed like savages."

"I don't think it should matter." The other Admiral dismissed, "The Terminus is our only option. What's left of Earth is getting crowded, Mars won't be able to handle the overflow, and Von Braun is decrepit. Element Zero production is down ten percent from last _month_. Terminus is bountiful with mining worlds."

"And if we push any deeper into the Terminus," Mikhailovich continued barking, unwilling to listen, "then we risk war with every pirate nation and crime syndicate out there!" The man straightened his uniform, as if to calm himself, but every word that passed through his lips was a shout. "We _need _this, Zahretsky! If the Council is unwilling to let us colonize and mine where we please, then we should take it for ourselves!"

Zahretsky scoffed, ceasing his pacing as he got in Mikhailovich's face, "Oh yes! Because risking war with the three most powerful species in the galaxy is a much more desirable option!"

Harland wasn't going to let this go on like this, "I'm still the Ambassador here, and if we-"

"And if we what?" Mikhailovich cut off, too far gone in his rant. "We appease to them some more? Follow 'tired and true' politics? We've done that, Rowe. Guess what? That's what got us here."

"ENOUGH!"

McCordus then sighed, tired of all the arguing. The man had been through too much. It was hard to believe that he was once a gung-ho marine ready to fight and die, but now? Retiring to a nice little house in the hills sounded pleasant. Gray eyes slowly turned to the Commander still staring out the viewport. "Commander? Care to join our conversation?"

The man turned, showing cold blue eyes. They seemed ghostly, as if they had witnessed thousands die, and were not affected otherwise. He seemed much younger than Mikhailovich and Zahretsky, but you could tell by the way the man walked that he had seen intense combat and lived through it.

He carried a fierce pride that practically emanated from every pore.

"Ambassador Rowe." He acknowledged with a nod and hand shake.

"This is Charles Ryker, he's one of the best we have." The Vice Admiral explained, "He fought on Earth against the insurrectionists, before that, he's worked with multiple species on various ops, most of which the Council don't know about."

"And I plan on ending this little charade the Council decided to put on." Ryker stated confidently as he kept his gaze locked with Harland.

Harland huffed, half-smiling, "How do you plan on doing that?"

He pointed to Nirvana, "With our little AI of course, which by Council Law shouldn't exist, mind you."

Artificial Intelligence programs were banned by the Council ever since the geth uprisings hundreds of years ago, but the Alliance, in secret, disregarded those regulations. On the outside, she seemed like a perfectly legal Virtual Intelligence interface, but she was far more than that.

Nirvana could hack into any alien network on a moment's notice, skillfully stealing any and all important information before disappearing like a shade into the night. Information warfare was this AI's game, and she played it well.

Ryker continued, smile growing on his face, "And with a little help from other outcasts within our lovely galaxy, I believe humanity can forge our own path."

Images of Tuchanka and the quarian Flotilla appeared in place of Nirvana.

"We can make humanity great again."

* * *

><p>Peace.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

Sergeant Zynn Nordum hated mid-day patrols.

Even more than he hated being stuck with greenhorn recruits. And he _despised_ greenhorns.

First of all, absolutely _nothing _happened. Criminals didn't 'work' a whole lot in the middle of the day, for fear of cameras getting a good look at their faces. And secondly, even though it seemed childish, working late-night shifts is what Zynn really wanted to do. He liked the grittiness of the Wards as opposed to the serenity of the Presidium. Other veterans called him crazy, saying that a mid-day shift was a blessing to be assigned to.

But Zynn wasn't like the other veterans. Not at all. He _liked _the fact that his life was on the line every night, no matter who called him crazy.

Which included his current partner, a drell by the name of Kaza…something or other. He never bothered to remember his last name, only had this kid for a week.

The drell was green around the gills, no pun intended, graduating from C-Sec Academy about a month ago.

"I'm telling you," Kaza began, leaning back in the passenger seat of their patrol car. "There ain't no way _two_ dozen turian commandos could take on a trained drell assassin, let alone one dozen."

"And I'm tellin' you," the turian shot back gruffly, "that they could easily take on one of your little frog boys easy. They'd butcher him in a stand up firefight."

"Too bad an assassin would never be caught in a stand up firefight in any case." The drell cleared his throat before continuing, "All he'd hafta do, is pick 'em off one atta time."

Pulling his patrol car into an open landing port, Zynn shook his head. They had been going at this for half an hour, the drell still claiming their famed assassins were much better than a dozen of the best turian commandos. "All we'd have to do, is shoot him."

"He's too fast-"

Zynn turned to Kaza, "Too fast for a bullet? No freakin' way."

The engines slowly hummed to sleep as Zynn opened up his door, stepping out into the Wards. He took a deep breath, and shook his head again. Air tasted better at night. Less people and cars around to pollute it.

Kaza got out on his side, "What're we doin' here?

"I'm going to see a good friend." The elder officer stated with a smile as he turned and walked forward. "You can come too, or wait in the car like a good frog boy."

"Screw you, pal." Kaza chuckled, jogging to catch up with his superior.

Zynn clicked his mandibles and shook his head. "Tsk, tsk. You shouldn't talk to anyone in the force like that, especially not to _your _Sergeant, froggy."

The drell huffed, black eyes hiding the skeptical look behind them, "Yeah, yeah. Trust me, though. One day you'll look back and regret calling me 'frog boy,' sir."

Zynn laughed out loud, "What? You thinkin' about taking my job?"

"_Please_." Kaza rolled his eyes, or at least Zynn thought he did. Couldn't tell with those black eyes anyways. "By the time I'm your age, I could be running C-Sec."

"Yeah…Executor Froggy. I'll send in a recommendation form to Pallin, see what he thinks."

He had seen it all before. Kids brimming with confidence the day they got their badges and pistols, ready to fight the good fight and take on all the crime on the Citadel. Sad fact though, the universe doesn't work like that. At all. Down in the Wards, all it took was one cocky move, one arrogant decision, and that likeable kid fresh out of the Academy had a bullet lodged in his brain.

Zynn let his boys have their fun, but he brought the hammer down when needed.

"So," Kaza slowly began after a few minutes of silently walking with his partner, "where are we headed?"

"A bar. Meet up with an old friend."

The skeptical look returned to Kaza's face as they pushed through the oddly thin crowd of citizens. "A bar? While out on patrol? That won't look good on our records."

_Spirits, what a moron. What did I do to get this kid?_

Zynn sighed, "We're not going there to drink. Just want to talk to a friend. A quick five minutes and then we're out again."

"Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh.'" Zynn clicked his mandibles again, scratching his chin as they approached the bar in question. Gavin's Keep, the best place for rotgut on this Ward. Hell, in Zynn's opinion, it was the best place on the whole damn Citadel.

He dodged past an asari and human female, the human looking especially distraught. The turian halted as he watched the couple flee from the bar, the asari holding her partner steady as they slowly retreated. Shrugging, the cop turned to find a group of turians stumble out the front door of the Keep in a hurry.

"Officer!" The first one, who seemed the most sober, shouted at Zynn. "Arrest that damned bartender!"

Zynn couldn't help but laugh. He had seen Gavin throw people out before, and every time they deserved it. This was probably one of those times.

The citizen's eyes narrowed, "What's so damned funny, huh? He pulled a gun on us!"

"Well I don't blame him." The Sergeant stated matter-of-factly. "You guys don't look like fun company."

Snarling, the turian motioned for his buddies as the hobbled off, "You're no real cop! Just a lazy nathak! We're gonna go find some real officers."

Zynn just shook his head and chuckled as the drunks wandered off. They wouldn't go near C-Sec, more likely they'd stumble over to Chora's Den and harass a few strippers. But word of Gavin pulling a gun was a little disturbing. The barkeep wouldn't pull a weapon on those three. Not very intimidating.

But if what they said was true, then something was wrong.

"Wait here, froggy." He ordered, marching for the front door. It wouldn't open when he approached, the metal portal was locked tight. He then tried pressing in the access code on the nearby keypad. A rejection tone sounded off. Zynn's brow furrowed.

Gavin supposedly forced people out at gunpoint, locked all the doors, and changed the pass code.

That usually wasn't a good sign.

He banged on the door with his fist, "Gavin? It's me, Zynn. Open up."

Silence.

The Sergeant pressed his head against the door. He heard something rustling on the other side. He knocked on it again, "Come on, man. I can hear you."

"_Go away, Zynn."_

Zynn huffed, "You know, I could just hack the door open. I have an omni-tool."

"_And I have a shotgun."_

"Threatening a buddy, huh?" The Sergeant pondered with a small grin. But he steeled away the smile, his tone dead serious, "Gavin…come on, man. What's got you spooked?"

"_Don't you ever watch the vids?"_

Zynn snorted, smile returning, "No, not recently. I'm up to my ears in paperwork on most nights, you know how it is."

"_Yeah…well you should take some time to watch. Real fuckin' enlightening."_

His headset beeped in his ear, indicating Dispatch needed him. Growling, Zynn pressed a finger against the headset, "Unit Four-Twenty, go ahead."

"_Unit Four-Twenty, this is Dispatch. We need you to head to Tayseri Ward, apartment complex six. Reports of gunshots in one of the buildings, so we need you to go check it out."_

"Roger that. What's going on up on Citadel Tower today, Dispatch? It's got a couple of humans here spooked."

But the female on the other end wouldn't answer his question. _"Check out those gunshots, Four-Twenty. Over and out."_

Shaking his head, Zynn turned back, Kaza falling in behind him. Gavin would have to wait, but he'd be back to figure out what the hell was going on. Right now though, he had to find out who decided to start shooting down in Tayseri.

Sliding into his seat, Zynn lit up the sirens and punched in their destination. The car lifted off the ground and flared its engines, firing off towards the apartments. Kaza smirked as he grabbed his pistol, priming the weapon, "Think something big is goin' on down there, sir?"

"First of all," Zynn hissed, yanking the gun from Kaza's hands. "Don't _ever_ prime a gun inside a moving patrol car. Especially _my _patrol car. Ever." He re-engaged the safety on the weapon, and then shoved it back into the drell's chest. "And second of all, no. I don't think anything 'big' is going on. Probably just some dumb-ass who shoot himself in the foot."

"What crawled up your ass and promptly died, _sir_?"

Zynn sighed, "A mid-day patrol did, kid."

With that, the turian leaned back in his chair and waited for the car to find its way. A few minutes later, it touched down near a large housing complex. Zynn shut off the siren and exited, Kaza eagerly jumped out.

A lot of humans stayed within Tayseri Ward, ever since the Council let them in five years back. This is where a majority of them were more or less dropped off, and many hadn't strayed far. A large crowd gathered around one of the entrances, at least two dozen or so. All humans.

They turned to the C-Sec car as it touched down, and immediately focused on the two cops that stepped out. Zynn actually froze for a moment.

All of them were, as humans would say, staring daggers at them.

"Uh, C-Sec." Kaza announced. "Where did the shooting take place?"

A human stepped forward to answer. Male, impeccably dressed in a fine suit and neatly done dirty blond hair. His jade green eyes seemed like they could bore a hole through titanium as he hissed a reply, "There was no 'shooting.' Only one shot was fired. Seventh floor, room 212."

Zynn put on his best smile for the civilians. "We'll take it from here people, go on about your business." He turned to the oddly well-dressed human, "And you…if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were being somewhat hostile towards us. Care to explain, Mister…?"

The man approached, waving a hand to his companions, "You think you aliens can get away with what you did to us?"

"Get away with what, sir?"

Getting in Zynn's face, the human kept on ranting, "Your crimes will _not_ go unpunished!" He grabbed the neck guard of the Sergeant's armor, bringing his green eyes to Zynn's gray ones, "My name…is Jacob Krieger. Remember it!"

With that he stormed off, his legion of compatriots followed, each giving both officers deathly glares as they passed.

Kaza kept his eyes on the group, hand drifting to his sidearm. "Good gods. What the hell was that about?"

Zynn shrugged, "I don't know. They'll probably blaming a turian for the crime." He glanced up at the complex, scratching his right mandible slowly, "Well, come on, froggy. We're not gonna find out what went down from out here."

The pair marched inside, to find the main lobby deserted, save for a few pieces of trash and pieces of furniture. A holo-screen once hung on the far, gray wall, but someone apparently smashed it to pieces, very recently. Kaza noticed something, and he patted Zynn on the arm to get his attention. Turning, the turian found large black letters painted on the wall. They were in English, one of the more dominant human languages.

"What does it say? My translator can't decipher this." Kaza explained with a furrowed brow, intrigued by the markings.

In his younger days, Zynn's father made him take a foreign language course in prep school. He had a choice between the Elcor's body language, or several human dialects. A friend told him English was the easiest, so he took it. Turns out, if Zynn had a choice between learning another language again and gouging his eyes out, then his eyes would have to go.

He was rusty, but the teacher's lessons came back easily enough, "It says…_ 'We are not animals.'_"

Kaza asked what did he think it meant, and Zynn simply said it was probably written here a long time ago.

The officers then proceeded to the elevator and selected the seventh floor. When the doors parted, a cold hallway greeted them, room 212 just down the hall. No souls were anywhere to be seen. Just dust and echoes.

Kaza stepped out first, only to have Zynn's meaty arm hold him back.

"Wait." He ordered, squinting as he scanned the corridor. "I don't like it. Too quiet."

Slowly, the Sergeant reached for his pistol and drew, the weapon unfolded at his touch. Disengaging the safety, the gun hummed to life, ready to fire.

Kaza did the same.

"Stay behind me." The elder officer moved forward, knees bent slightly both hands wrapped around his firearm as he silently moved down the hall. His partner mimicked him, yet his eyes darted around nervously, his breath becoming labored with a combination of fear and excitement.

The hallway met at an intersection, each of the four corridors branching off deeper into the apartments. Room 212 just ahead. Zynn stepped out, directing the barrel of his pistol to the left.

"Hallway clear."

Kaza immediately about-faced, mentally berating himself for leaving his Sergeant's six, and his own, exposed.

"Ha-Hallway clear." He shakily reported.

Still glaring down his own passageway, Zynn called out, "Kid?"

No response, just more labored breathing.

"Kid?"

Kaza snapped out of it, "Y-Yes sir?"

"Settle down."

A hard swallow, "I'll try, sir."

"Try harder. I've been around long enough to figure out there are three ways out of C-Sec." Kaza glanced at his Sergeant, the elder continued, "Retirement, getting fired, or in a body bag." Color drained from the drell's face, but Zynn quickly reigned him back in, "Just settle down, or you'll end up like number three."

"Yes, sir."

It wasn't the most calming piece of advice, but it was the only advice the man could give.

Swiftly turning again, Zynn moved to the designated room. He pressed his back against the wall to the left of the door's frame, Kaza took the right.

Zynn's eyes looked at the keypad for the metal portal, and then to the door itself. "Hmpf."

"What? What's wrong?" Kaza asked, words spilling out quickly.

"No signs of forced entry." The Sergeant brought his omni-tool, casting a green glow over the matte walls. "Tool says no hacking attempt either." Dragging the tool over the keypad, he glanced at his screen as new information appeared. "Owner of room two-twelve is a human, female. Alex Yurr."

"Alex?" Kaza began, brow furrowing. "Isn't Alex a human _male's _name?"

"Nah." Zynn shook his head. "It's one of those ambiguous names, it goes both ways, ya know? Like Steve."

"_Steve_?" The drell smiled. "Never met a girl named Steve."

"Trust me, kid." Zynn began, sounding like an old salt. Hopefully the kid wouldn't notice he was talking out of his ass at this point. "Once you've been around as long as me, you'll see just about everything."

"You don't know the first thing about humans, do you?"

_Damn it._

"I know the women have the funny bumps on their chests."

Kaza just shook his head as Zynn opened the door, silently letting himself into this Alex Yurr's apartment. It was a neatly kept place, clean floors, furniture in the right place, not a speck of dirt to be found. He smelled food cooking, burnt food.

Burning food was never a good sign.

He glanced back at his drell partner, "You head for the kitchen. I'll take the bedroom."

Kaza slowly broke off. Zynn moved down a tiny corridor to his left and found two doors, he took the first one.

A retracting mirror greeted him, startling the Sergeant for a moment. He saw his face, rough and weathered. His worn-down clan markings that scrawled over his face mimicked that, once bright and vibrant, now faded and scratched. He should really get those repainted at some point.

Pushing the mirror out of his way, the room opened up to reveal a single bed sitting at the head of the room, clean white sheets and a tiny pillow. A muted video screen showing some news program, a beautiful asari probably rambling on about the weather or something.

Upon closer inspection, he noticed splotches of red all over the bed. His heart began to race.

"Miss Yurr? You in here, ma'am?" Zynn risked calling out, hoping for the best.

Sadly though, C-Sec officers knew they'd rarely get the best.

At the other end of the bed, lay a woman on the floor, a gun next to her petite frame. The cop didn't dare to look up, but morbid curiosity and a need to know what happened overrode him.

Blood and gray bits of flesh.

He immediately stumbled back, shutting his eyes tight and covering them with his hand, "Oh spirits…"

_Suicide. Damn it, why suicide?_

Slowly, he regained his composure. Couldn't let the kid see him like this. Shoving his gun back in its holster, he pressed a talon to his headset, "Kid, what do ya got in the kitchen?"

The drell sounded as if his mouth was full, _"No one here. Lady makes a mean varren steak though, if a little burnt."_

"Yeah, well quit stuffing your face and get in here." He didn't want to, but the kid was going to have to see this. You would have to get used to the bodies if you were going to stay sane. Too bad Zynn couldn't take his own advice sometimes, suicides always got to him.

Turning his attention back to the body, he kneeled by it. The gun wasn't military or police issue, if it was, the lady wouldn't have a head right now.

Not like there was much left, in any case.

The body itself, was in remarkably well condition. She took care of herself, judging by her finely toned muscles. Loose-fitting workout clothes wrapped around her tiny frame, cloth darkened with a combination of sweat and blood.

"Oh my gods…"

Zynn didn't look up, already picturing the kid's reaction. He'd seen it before, with all the others. Slowly, he cupped each cheek of the corpse with his thumb and fingers, turning it side to side. "Shame…she was pretty, too."

"Why did she do it?" Kaza asked, black eyes trailing to the stained ceiling.

Zynn clicked his mandibles and glanced at the vid screen, back to the woman, and then…back to the screen.

The news was on.

'_**Breaking News, Council Rules on Act 24-21H'**_

"Turn the sound on." The Sergeant ordered. Kaza did as he was told.

"…_humans will be given four days to collect belongings from their respective businesses and homes. On the fifth, C-Sec officers and Council representatives will guide human citizens to transport shuttles, taking them to the border worlds for temporary housing and-"_

The Sergeant's jaw dropped.

_What. The. Hell?_

Kaza couldn't seem to find the words right away either, but he put it together faster than his elder, "They're doing this to humans?" He looked down at the girl, "…S-She did this…because of t-th-that?"

"I think so…" Zynn slowly nodded, shutting off the vid. Too many questions rushed into his brain.

Why? Why was something this big, kept quiet? He should have been informed about this! Did other officers know about this order from the Council?

Why humanity? Sure, they're were a bit overzealous as a species, but Zynn figured they integrated well enough on the Citadel, even with the Relay 314 Incident considered.

"Do you think she did this, because she didn't want to go back out there? To their colonies, I mean." Kaza reasoned, asking the question more to himself than his superior, "Is the Attican Traverse _that_ bad?"

Shaking his head, the Sergeant answered, "No, no. Humans can't go into the Traverse, or anywhere in Council space."

"Where would they go then?"

"The Terminus Systems, most likely." Zynn explained as he rose back to his feet.

Kaza couldn't believe that, "The Terminus! That's damn near suicide!"

"Guess that's what this lady thought too." The Sergeant scratched his chin as he made his way for the door, pressing a finger to his radio. "Get me a coroner down at Tayseri Ward, ASAP. Apartment complex six, seventh floor, room two-twelve."

He turned and grabbed Kaza by the arm, guiding him away from the grisly sight. A newfound anger rose up in him, the drell yanking his limb free.

"Why weren't we told!" He demanded, turning to his Sergeant, rage in his eyes. "Why is it so horrible, that the woman in there had to shoot herself! Why!"

The turian wasn't having any of it, grabbing the kid's throat, "Settle down!" A finger went to his radio again, "Dispatch, you mind telling me what the hell is going on with the… _Deportation _order?"

"_Sorry, Four-Twenty. Wasn't supposed to let the news spread until the higher-ups gave the go-ahead."_

"Yeah, well a woman apparently blew her head off over this. So thanks for keeping me out of the loop."

"_Sergeant Nordum, I suggest you settle down-"_

Zynn huffed, "Or what? Turians get the boot next?"

The girl on the other end stayed silent for a moment, before quickly responding, _"Unit Four-Twenty, we got a three-sixteen in progress near your position and other units in the area need your assistance."_

Three-sixteen. Civil unrest.

He grabbed Kaza again, "We need to move."

* * *

><p>"Fuck you, pigs!"<p>

A firebomb soared overhead, Zynn barely had time to grab Kaza and drag him to the ground. Behind them, a pool of flames erupted where the stood moments ago.

Three other officers appeared, and fired upon the human, forcing him to retreat. After the last gunshot rang out, silence followed. Zynn kept his partner on the ground as he looked up.

Looks like they were late to the party.

Whatever happened here, the damage had been done long before Zynn and Kaza arrived. A C-Sec outpost was lit ablaze by humans in protest to the Council's ruling, killing several inside. Before nearby officers could mobilize, the humans were almost completely gone, save for the prick who tried to set Kaza on fire.

Helping his partner back up, Zynn looked for Captain Korten, who commanded this district.

He found him by an ambulance, getting patched up by a medic.

Quickly jogging over, Zynn saw the extent of the damage. Korten was badly burnt, his right arm was bloodied and charred, the lower part of his face had received the same treatment. His armor was all over the ground, all of it blackened.

"Quit twitching." The medic ordered.

"I'm not twitching." Korten said calmly, as if he was just reading a report. His untouched left hand slowly stroked his left mandible, also undamaged. The Captain's green eyes found Zynn, a ghost of a smile appeared, "Hey Zynn, can you believe it? Some rat threw a firebomb at me."

Zynn shook the man's hand and knelt next to him, "You look like shit, sir."

"You don't look too good yourself, mate. Look like you've seen a spirit."

Sighing, the Sergeant took another quick glance at the still-burning C-Sec outpost, "So, give me the rundown."

"Well…" Korten began, shoving the medic away as he ignored the pain that erupted in his right limb, "You've probably heard of the order to remove the humans from the Citadel?"

Zynn nodded.

"Yeah…" Korten nodded over to the burning building. "There you go. If you ask me, the Council fucked this up, big time."

"You can say that again." He agreed.

It was only going to get worse from here, both officers knew that. Blood was going to be spilt before this was over, and they were going to have to clean up the mess. And Zynn was confident in one thing. It was going to be a big mess.

Korten flexed his burnt mandible as he ordered the medic to bring him a shirt, then he turned to his friend, "You know, there's an old human saying… That we just kicked a hornet's nest."

* * *

><p>Peace.<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

Jacob Krieger smiled.

It had been two days since the Council's so-called order. And humanity had retaliated. Krieger had gone Ward to Ward, gathering his supporters in the streets. He had already led a few stray attacks on various C-Sec outposts. Reaching into the corporate world, Krieger had the Sirta Foundation pull out completely, taking medi-gel with it. Other human companies followed suit, one after the other. A well-organized motion of pulling the proverbial rug out from underneath the alien economy.

It would show the Council what they would miss dearly if they decided to screw over humanity.

Their money and medicine.

The man could hear the collective wave of one thousand voices, voices of menand women. _Human_ men and women. Thousands more would hear Krieger's voice via the radio and a few select pirate vid channels.

One of his many assistants approached him, "Mister Krieger, you're on in fifteen."

Slowly adjusting his tie, the man marched towards the main stage, grin still on his face.

It this very moment that reminded Krieger of his previous life. Once he wanted to work alongside the turians, salarians, and asari. He wanted to help form a galactic trust through corporate unity and expansion. Pouring money into political campaigns that supported the integration of all species, even Krieger himself making several personal appearances to various political functions.

He spent _so_ much, putting in years of his life trying to secure humanity's future…

And the _aliens _betrayed him. Betrayed everyone.

Now, Krieger devoted himself to one goal, and one goal only. Bringing them _down_. The man was willing to do whatever it took, whether it be through the corporate side, which was already in motion, or through the human citizens still living on this very station.

So he sent ripples through the extranet, calling for human citizens who refused to be bullied from their only stable home, to come out and show their 'rulers' that mankind wouldn't roll over and play dead for the Council.

The moment he pressed a foot on that stage, the crowed erupted in applause. Krieger threw his arms into the air like some sort of gladiator after killing the lion, and the thralls of citizens rose to their feet, applause became full-on cheering. A few began chanting his name, but as he approached the center, the crowd silenced themselves.

Krieger kept his grin going as he addressed the crowd, his strong voice resonating throughout the Ward, "Citizens! Welcome to a moment in history!" The thralls reacted, confused. Krieger enlightened them, "Not a joyous moment, mind you. What has been committed against humanity can only be judged as a _crime_ of historic proportions. A betrayal!"

Shouts of agreement, more clapping and hollering.

Krieger knew they believed every word he said, because he believed it. He had felt betrayed, like the Council species turned their backs on him and the rest of his race.

"They want to force you from your homes! To send back out into a universe that you all know too well!" Many humans that were sent to the Citadel five years back were from devastated colonies, where either civil war had destroyed their homes, or batarian slavers. Krieger had been part of the rich few sent to the station, where before he had a somewhat secure life on Mars.

But he had seen the destruction the wars and slavers had caused. He knew what the people before him had gone through.

His grin disappeared, "Now, like you, I don't want to leave! I've built a life here and I'm willing to _fight _for it!" An explosion of approval, encouraging Krieger to point out into the crowd, then into the cameras that were watching him, "Who else is willing to fight for their homes!"

A thousand voiced answered, sending echoes throughout the Citadel. Krieger hoped the Council heard this.

"This is a message! To all humans on the Citadel! If you wish to stay, if you truly believe you were wronged, then fight! Fight against those who wish to remove you, against those who wish to make you just another bad memory!"

Turning back where from where he came, Krieger knew he did his job. The crowd began to chant his name again as he left the stage, one thousand voices in unison.

"_Krieger! Krieger! Krieger!"_

Just before he disappeared from the crowd's collective view, Krieger threw a hand up and waved to the crowd.

Stepping down from the stage, another assistant approached him, "Superb speech, Mister Krieger. Your shuttle is waiting for you."

Thanking the assistant, Krieger made his way for the rear alleyway. Two of his partners were waiting for him, humans, of course. Walter, a tall, burly man from what was left of Earth, and Saul, a thinner lad who used to run with the Alliance. The first one approached him immediately.

"Well it looks like you got the crowd here on your side, sir." Walter stated confidently.

Krieger merely nodded, out of breath as he wiped away the small drops of sweat that appeared on his brow. He then held out his hand, which Walter placed a holo-pad brimming with new data. "How's everything coming along?"

Saul answered quickly as the three headed towards the waiting shuttle at the end of the alley, "ExoGeni pulled out an hour ago, as well as Hahne-Kedar. Armstrong Solutions and Terran Dynamics are cutting off and packing up as we speak, Fourth World Element is liquidating as well."

That many companies, which had quickly established themselves as powerhouses on the Citadel during their five year tenure, would prove disastrous to the local economy once they pulled out.

"They'll be turning on each other like dogs going for the last bit of steak." Walter added, enjoyment littered his voice.

Something told Krieger that the Council did not think their plan entirely through, and that brought another smile to his face.

He could imagine the Council on their knees, pleading with him for mercy as mankind brought the Citadel to its knees. A pleasant image, sure, but something in the back of his mind cautioned him to remain wary. One hundred thousand humans on a space station of thirteen million didn't inspire confidence.

But regardless of the numbers, Krieger relaxed as he eased himself into the shuttle, which was off to a private suite on the Presidium. There he'd post more of his little speeches on the extranet and overlook the impending collapse of the alien economy.

Jacob Krieger smiled.

Today was a good day.

* * *

><p>Gavin was drunk. He knew that, the people around him knew that.<p>

And he didn't care.

Of course, drinking through a quarter of his stock wouldn't be good for business. But then again, most of his human customers were gone, and he locked the doors whenever the cops decided to poke around. So screw it all, Gavin was going to get drunk, right here in his own bar.

Who was going to stop him?

"_Gavin?"_

"Shit." The barkeep slurred. Why Zynn, of all people? Nosey turians…

"_Gavin, I know you're in there. Come on man, let me in." _His voice was calm, sympathetic. Like he really wanted to know what was going on.

Too bad Gavin kept all the doors locked, too bad he wasn't very trusting of good ol' C-Sec officers right now. Probably here to drag him away, maybe back to the Von Braun or worse…Mindoir.

The thought of that damned colony sent Gavin into a brief panic. Harsh memories of his birthplace still plagued him like a constant swarm of locust.

A serene place for the longest time, protected by their Alliance 'guardians,' only to have batarians drop right in the second the Alliance garrison packed up and left for a mining colony. Gavin watched, a teenager at the time, as his parents were both killed. His brother was enslaved, friends too. A pirate found him when Gavin tried hiding in his home's basement, only to be laughed at.

He was too scrawny, weak in the eyes of that alien. So the pirate shot him in both legs and left him to bleed out.

And then they found Rita.

His best friend, a girl he once thought he truly loved, was dragged before him. That pirate had his way with her, while Gavin couldn't even stand to defend her. Then they dragged her away.

It wasn't until three hours later that an Alliance scouting unit showed up, eventually finding the bleeding-out teenager.

"You're not taking me back, Zynn."

"_Back? Gav, I just want to talk, man. I'm not taking you anywhere. I'm not even on duty right. Just let me in."_

He wasn't going away. Not this time.

Sighing, Gavin lifted his omni-tool and released the locks to the front door. The cop quickly stepped through.

The odor of alcohol hit him like a club, "_Spirits_, Gav. It reeks in here." The Sergeant's eyes found the empty bottles on the floor, even more littered the table that his friend took refuge at.

The moment Gavin looked up, the turian froze in his tracks. Gavin looked like crap, and that was putting it lightly. His hair was unkempt, eyes red, dark circles under those eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, and reeked of the same alcohol that his bar permeated in.

Shaking his head, the officer sighed and pulled up a seat next to his friend. "Taking the news hard?"

Gavin feigned offense, pressing a finger against his chest, eyes wide.

"Me? Take the news hard?" He chuckled. "Taking news that my entire _species_ is getting bullied out a home that I've only known for a few years? Nahhh. I just get this drunk for fun. It's what the kids are into, I think."

"I came here to help you out, Gav. Not to be treated like shit." Zynn stated, pointing a sharp talon towards the barkeep.

Gavin just chuckled again, taking another sip from the whiskey he had, "What about that Krieger guy, huh? Saw him on the vids not an hour ago. He's here to fight for us insignificant humans, telling us we should fight alongside him." Lifting his shotgun onto the table, he smiled as Zynn glared at the weapon, "And I'm seriously thinking about helping out, if you catch my drift."

"Krieger is spewing hate speech now, Gavin. Nothing more than a racist." Zynn said slowly.

"Yeah, bash the one man willing to fight for the rest of us." Gavin dismissed, taking another swig of his drink.

Zynn pointed towards the vid screen, muted now but still displayed images of Jacob Krieger on it, "That man wants violence as a solution, Gavin. There are other ways to settle this."

"Like what? Packing up and leaving in three days?" The man hissed, squeezing the glass in his hand. His knuckles turned bone-white.

Zynn didn't know what to say. Honestly he didn't. Gavin was one of his best friends, seeing him like this was a little shocking.

Nothing like the cool-headed bartender four years ago, who helped the cop take down a few unruly punks who refused to be cuffed quietly. No, now Gavin something else, something bad.

He was angry, drunk, and looking to a man that spoke of violence and taking up arms against the Council.

Zynn stood and turned for the door, only to have Gavin's voice follow him, "What? You spend all the trouble, annoying me at my door, coming in here, and now you're just walking out?"

"I'll come back when you got the balls to sober up." Zynn harshly stated. "Until then, enjoy your whiskey alone. You know my number. Call me when you actually want to talk."

With that the cop walked out of the bar and into the Ward, the night air filling his lungs again. It was cool and clean, but something else was in the air that evening. An air of change, as some would describe it. Unpleasant change.

Change that would produce blood.

* * *

><p>Pretty short, I know. Hope you enjoyed regardless. Get ready for big stuff coming up.<p>

In other news, updated my profile, actually putting information on it, so if you're interested, you can go read that. Maybe check out some of my other stuff…_wink wink, nudge nudge._

Peace.


	6. Chapter 6

Karlan'Dama vas Koarra wasn't an impatient man, by any means.

The men and women under his command considered him a kind, caring Admiral who always had time for the crew. He was willing to listen to every problem, even the most mundane. It wasn't just his responsibility as an Admiral within the Migrant Fleet, but it was his nature.

But today, his patient nature was running thin.

Unknown ships had entered the Fleets outermost layer of surveillance, minor blips on the radar and scanners. Some would disregard it as random debris like metallic asteroids, which could occasionally trip a scanner or two, but not Karlan.

The disturbances on the Fleets frontier were consistent, the same blip on the scanners came back every other few minutes or so. No asteroid or piece of debris 'came back.'

It was a ship, small, probably a covert scouting vessel. Something mainly used for spying.

In any case, it annoyed the quarian, so much so that he considered getting a frigate into position to destroy it. Anything that was deemed a security risk to the Migrant Fleet was to be destroyed, geth or not.

"Sir!" Lieutenant Teth'Murdan turned in her seat, "Object on the scanners has been identified as Systems Alliance." Silver eyes found her screen again, her voice showed a slight bit of panic, "New contacts! I'm counting ten plus military vessels, all Systems Alliance." Her eyes went wide, "Capital ships! At least four dreadnoughts, the rest are cruisers and frigates!"

Humans. That didn't sit well with the Admiral. He had heard of mankind being forced off the Citadel days ago, and they were rightfully pissed off. Now, they were in quarian space, with practically a fleet of military ships. That didn't sit well with the Admiral, nor the officer to his left.

Ensign Kalesh'Narl hissed to himself as his long fingers worked over his screen, "I _knew_ it, I bloody well _knew_ it. Only a matter of time before those pissy monkeys turned into crusaders. Of course they'd come after us first, it's only logical after all…"

Karlan stayed silent, listening to all the voices around him. Teth kept reporting the numbers, now over twenty detected. Kalesh kept bitching.

Other Flotilla vessels had noticed the human armada, Liveships began to pull back while any other ship able to fight had diverted to meet the intruders head on.

Everyone else was silent, watching their Admiral, waiting for his orders. He quickly made them.

"Get me a line with their lead ship, now. Teth, keep tracking them, if they press into our red zone, tell me." He turned to Kalesh. "Ensign?"

The young quarian turned to his superior. "Yes, sir?"

"Shut up. Please."

With that, the man marched towards the comms station and pressed his finger against the transmit key. "This is Admiral Dama of the starship _Koarra_, you have entered Migrant Fleet space without any announcement or clearance. If you do not respond immediately, I will be forced to order my dreadnoughts to release their salvos."

A wash of static filled the bridge's speakers, then a strong voice came through.

"_This is Commander Charles Ryker, executive officer of the dreadnought _Julius Caesar_." _One could almost 'hear' the confident smile in his voice.

"Mind telling me why you humans have entered our space with this…sizeable force of vessels?" Karlan gave a tiny smile of his own, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say this would appear to be a hostile action, bringing so many boats into another's territory."

'Territory' wasn't exactly something quarians could truly claim, being the _Migrant_ Fleet, but treaties stated that the space that surrounded the Flotilla belonged to it. At least to a point.

But they had every right to defend that temporary territory, and they would if need be.

"_One could say that, but I don't wish to come as a conqueror, that I assure you." _The man was confident, each word that came from his mouth showed that quite clearly. He reminded the Admiral of his father, a man who brimmed with confidence, bordering on hubris. _"But before I divulge any more information, I wish to meet the Flotilla's leaders in person, Admiral. As soon as possible would be preferable."_

Karlan huffed, "I'm sorry, Commander, but parading in here with over ten heavyweight warships and asking to see my superiors doesn't fly around here. You're lucky enough that we haven't opened fire upon you yet."

The Admiral barely hid his irritation. If they were forced to fire, the humans would reciprocate, most likely destroying many of the non-military ships within the Flotilla. Civilians would die, fathers, mothers, children. Karlan already had blood like that on his hands, and he wasn't interested in repeating what happened that day.

"_Please, Admiral Dama. I need to speak with them, this is a matter of galactic importance." _Ryker didn't sound desperate, in fact, he was almost forceful.

Karlan opened his mouth to deny him yet again, only to have a third voice join the conversation.

"_Admiral Dama, you and your lance will stand down immediately and permit the Commander's dreadnought, and only __his__ dreadnought, within the Fleet."_

The Grand Admiral's words were cold and spoken decisively, like they always have been. You couldn't find a trace of hesitation in that quarian's voice, just calculations. It always sent shivers down Karlan's spine.

Ryker curtly responded, _"Thank you for your-"_

"_Do __not__ get coy with me, human." _The cold voice cut off. _"You're still being targeted by every able vessel in my Flotilla. Dock with the _Rayya_ at these coordinates. Decontamination teams will meet with you, along with several squads of marines. One careless twitch and you will be blown to particles."_

* * *

><p>The Conclave was quickly called to order, Karlan among them. Others included Admirals Zinnesh'Ull, Norta'Azzereth, Kmali'Turann, and of course, the Grand Admiral.<p>

Several members of the _Rayya's _crew had gathered in the amphitheater, what began as a few guards and maintenance members turned into a crowd of curious shipmates. They wanted to know why humans demanded immediate council with the higher-ups within the Flotilla, and why the higher-ups would agree to such a thing in the first place.

But the humans were still being decontaminated, so that left the Admirals to quietly speak amongst themselves.

"I don't get it," Zinnesh grumbled in his gruff voice, stroking a finger against his visor. "If all the humans wanted to do was speak, why bother send in a large section of their fleet. And if the readings were correct, they brought _four_ dreadnoughts, meaning they brought half of all the dreadnoughts they had." He shook his head, "You don't bring in four battleships for a mere diplomatic meeting."

"They're trying to intimidate us, show off their power," Kmali explained. "Ancient nations would march their legions into neighboring countries for 'peace talks.' If they refused to whatever they demanded…" She just shrugged, the ending self-explanatory.

Norta merely snorted and waved her hand, "Them just barging into our space is a punishable offense. We have their little handful of ships outnumbered twenty to one, I say let them have their word and then blow them all to hell."

"And risk hundreds of ships and thousands of lives in the process?" Zinnesh hissed, not willing to entertain the idea. "I don't like this either, but they haven't shot at us yet."

Karlan watched quietly as Norta turned to her fellow Admiral, anger in her stance apparent, "So you think we should just stand by and wait? What if this is some sort of elaborate trap? They could be planting nukes on the side of our vessels for all we know!"

"What would be the reason?" Zinnesh hoarsely shouted. "We've done nothing to them, and here you are fearing they're trying to kill us! They're humans, not _savages_!"

Carefully, Karlan placed a hand on Norta's shoulder, only to have it shoved off as her yells drew the attention of the crowds below, "So suddenly you sympathize with them? They're killers, just like the turians!" She lifted a finger, "Just like the damned _geth_."

Clamping a hand down on her thin shoulder, Karlan gave a tight squeeze. She needed to calm down, before she instigated a panic. Carefully, he looked up to the Grand Admiral, hoping to get an opinion. His superior didn't even notice, eyes locked in on the far side of the room.

A single human marched into the amphitheater, flanked by at least two dozen Migrant Fleet marines. He was covered head to toe in deep blue armor, the Systems Alliance emblem shined brightly on his breastplate. He walked tall, chest out, thick arms that his armor couldn't hide swayed back and forth with confidence. Cold, blue eyes stared straight through the clear visor of his helmet, locked in with the Grand Admiral's stare.

As the krogan would say, this man walked like he had a quad.

"Sorry if I kept you waiting." The man simply said, as if speaking to friends rather than a group of Admirals. "Your decon teams insisted that me, being a dirty, dirty human, be cleaned more than once."

The crowds' collective eyes turned to the man, waves of voices filled Karlan's ears, straight through his helmet. Many had never seen a human in person before. The Fleet had made several treaties with the Alliance, most of which were agreements on trading and territorial claims.

Being the Migrant Fleet however, you never really held onto territory for too long.

Norta just scoffed, "Well, I'm sorry if the safety of our people is an inconvenience for you. We'll just let you spread one of your filthy diseases around next time."

"Enough, Admiral Azzereth." The Grand Admiral ordered, tone coldly even.

Norta placed her hands behind her back, wrapping her fingers around each other. It was all she could do to prevent another outburst.

The Grand Admiral's eyes drifted towards the human, now waiting on a small pedestal below them. His hands were behind his back, feet shoulder-width apart, cold blue orbs looking up at all of them.

"This Conclave is brought to order." Slowly, the Grand Admiral began the small prayer, "Blessed are the ancestors who kept us alive through the our darkest of times, sustained us throughout the millennia, and enabled us to reach this season. _Keelah se'lai_."

Karlan held his tongue as the other Admirals and crewmates repeated the final part of the invocation. He was never raised to be particularly religious, something that alienated the Admiral as a child. Kids always gave him funny looks, adults were hesitant

to trust him.

Karlan didn't blame them, he honestly didn't. After the Morning War, _Keelah_ was one of the few things that kept the people going.

But it was something that Karlan's family didn't connect to very well, his father always said that deities wouldn't help the quarian race if they could do it themselves.

"So." The Grand Admiral's words snapped Karlan out of his thoughts. "What brings humanity to the Flotilla?"

Ryker took little time to reply, "I'm sure you've heard of the recent…_developments_ aboard the Citadel regarding us…" He glanced over to Norta and smiled under his helmet, "Disease-ridden humans."

Bringing up her omni-tool, Kmali spoke, "Yes, the Council appears to be enforcing a mass exodus for your species, citing your violent history as the main reason why they believe humanity doesn't belong with the rest of civilized society." Her eyes narrowed as she focused on her tool, "A history well-deserved, it seems."

Quarians were experts at reading body language, and Karlan knew a flash of anger when he saw it. The tightening of the human's fists as they clenched, the slightest tremor in his arms, the way his back suddenly straightened, eyes glaring at the woman. But it lasted only for a moment as the man's confident façade quickly returned.

"May I remind you that we humans are not the _only_ ones with a questionable past?" Ryker heard the offended gasps in the crowd, as if he implied what the quarian's gave birth to, three centuries ago. But the man was quick to silence them, "The batarians have always been brutal and violent, forcefully expanding into territory that had long been occupied before them." A wave of his hand as his cold blue eyes scanned the crowd, "The krogan, I'm surprised to this very day that they haven't gone extinct yet."

The Commander snorted, a brief chuckle, "Nuclear war ravaged their lands before the salarians found them, then the Rachni Wars and Machiavellian Excursions, followed by the Rebellions and finally the genophage." Another chuckle. "Compared to _them_, we're damned angels."

"'Angels' don't bring fleets of warships along with them." The hoarse voice of Zinnesh stated. "I believe you should stop wasting our time, Commander. So I'll ask this one final time. Why, in _Keelah's _good name, are your people encroaching on us like this?"

Ryker stood straight again, arms at his sides. His eyes met the Grand Admiral's.

"The Systems Alliance Navy wishes to seek an active military alliance with the Quarian Flotilla."

The deadpan delivery of his words didn't throw off the Admirals, it was the message itself. In the past, the Alliance refused to take sides with any race, especially after First Contact.

"An alliance?" Norta nearly shouted, the anger in her voice clear. Her finger rose as it jabbed towards the human standing before her, "You send our entire fleet on military alert to ask for a military alliance! This is preposterous, this is what ambassadors are for!"

She turned to the Grand Admiral, "Dismiss this human from the Fleet, Grand Admiral. He has done nothing but waste our time and resources!" She felt Karlan's hand grab her arm again, a hand which she promptly smacked away. "We shouldn't even consider their so-called offer."

Silence was all that followed, the steely silver gaze of the Grand Admiral didn't waver, never leaving the lone human. The words came out slowly.

"This Conclave is adjourned. Commander Ryker, I wish to see you in private."

* * *

><p>"Imagine, Grand Admiral, if your people could have a permanent place that could house a large majority of your fleet, while giving your citizens a home to stay for as long as they desired." Ryker explained as he slowly marched from one end of the small room to the other.<p>

It was a modest abode, about the same size of nearly every other room on a quarian vessel. Which really meant cramped.

But the view was impressive. A large viewport replaced a wall, revealing a large sun in the vast expanse of inky blackness, burning bright blue. Large lances of plasma snaked away from the heavenly body, only to die out moments later.

The Admiral turned from the viewport, "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the most advanced and expansive space station known to sentient life." The Commander needn't say any more, for they both knew what he was referring to.

"No." The Grand Admiral hissed. "The Flotilla isn't allowed anywhere near the Citadel, and soon you humans will join us."

The quarian honestly thought he was still thinking of petitioning and asking for admittance. Humanity asked once, and they received a hard kick in the pants.

Ryker was going to make sure that humanity was never going to ask twice.

"I'm not interested in wasting my time with the Council, Grand Admiral. I wish, with your fleet's assistance, to _take_ the Citadel."

"No." The alien repeated. "Too many lives would be put at risk, our own and those on the space station. You may not care about innocents, Commander, but I _do_."

He should have expected as much. Quarians, all of them, had the 'service before self' mentality. But the man knew them inside and out, he knew how to appeal to the darkest desires of any alien.

A smile crept up on him, "Would you not want to secure your peoples' future? Give them a stable home, where they won't be shunned by the bigots and bastards of the universe?" He tentatively placed a hand on the Admiral's shoulder, where he felt muscles tighten, even beneath the enviro-suit.

When the alien didn't respond, he continued, "Wouldn't you want to stop the geth, once and for all? We can help. We won't put restrictions on your people. You can mine as much as you wish, harvest entire worlds if need be. Develop the top Artificial Intelligences, with absolutely no need to shackle them."

The alien shifted from foot to foot, fingers nervously wringing one another. Noticing this breakdown in the Grand Admiral's demeanor Ryker kept pressing, "Think of what's best for everyone in the long term, Admiral. With your massive fleet and our knowledge of the Citadel's defenses, not even all of the Council races combined could stop us."

"And then…?" The Admiral croaked, fingers still wrestling with each other.

"Then?" Ryker smiled as he made the Grand Admiral face him, cold blue eyes staring into silver orbs.

"Peace and prosperity…for all."

* * *

><p>Sorry this took so long to get out, if you hate me I understand. Sports have been kicking my rear-end all summer, and school for me just started up again so that wasn't very helpful at all.<p>

But, I hope you enjoyed regardless.

Peace.


	7. Chapter 7

"Keep moving!"

The sea of humans didn't seem to listen to the order. Lieutenant Girav Allud growled and shouted again.

"Keep moving, people!"

The officer wasn't prepared for this, literal ocean of bodies to flow through the bottleneck that was the Citadel's Kyrix Point, the central hub for all things transportation. On a normal day, this hub would've been bustling with an almost mechanic efficiency, thousands of ships would pour in, drop off cargo and people alike, and be out in time for the next few thousand to come in. Each of the twelve long docks that reached outward into the void of space, atmosphere held intact through a mass effect field, was with jammed gargantuan transport vessels, lined up nose to stern with one another.

Every square inch of flooring was taken up by humans and what few possessions they had. Today was the 'Big Move' as some of the officers called it. The turian Lieutenant could care less what is was called, he just wanted the damn noise to stop. Even though he knew that all two hundred thousand humans did not show up for their mandated eviction, how ever many there were here…the noise they created was almost unbearable.

Add that along with the thrum of hundreds of drive cores running at the same time and the gigantic vid-screens displaying the VI Avina mechanically drumming out boarding instructions, and one had constant thunderstorm of

And here Girav was, working security along with about nine hundred other officers.

Then Sergeant Nordum appeared next to him, shouting over the din, "How ya holdin' up, LT?"

The Lieutenant didn't respond at first, staring at a family of four. A mother and three children, the smallest youngling was weeping, while her two teenage brothers attempted to console her. The mother's face was a vibrant crimson, eyes wet as she tried to guide them along.

"LT? Lieutenant!"

His eyes snapped to Zynn, "I'm doing just fine, Sergeant. How's everything on your end?"

The other turian simply smiled, "My boy is learnin' quick. Broke up a pretty big fight over on E-Deck, all on his lonesome," he glanced over to the drell rookie, currently shouting at a pair of straggling humans, "good kid, if he could keep his cool."

"Anger management issues there, Sarge?"

Zynn stifled a laugh, shaking his head, "Nah, just a temper on him. Once this shit blows over, I'll sort him out."

Girav grimaced. "You really think this'll just blow over? That they'll just forget this ever happened?"

The Sergeant was quick to reply, "Hell no. It's gonna get real bad. A _looooot_ of people are going to die. Humans, turians, asari. We'll all be dragged into this. Whatever happens after this," he motioned to the humans being forced to board a nearby transport, "will only get worse."

"That's pretty damn bleak." Girav gave a slight huff, almost a laugh. _Almost_, but not quite.

"Call me a pessimist then, but you've seen it yourself, Lieutenant. Humans blowing their heads off rather then being deported, rogue sects of them banding together led by this Krieger, and the Alliance suddenly goes dark? Not to mention stocks fell into the shitter a few days back." Zynn felt something well up in him, and he continued. "The mass suicides and good, young kids with bright futures murdering C-Sec officers…I mean, everything is lookin' so _bad_. I don't even know what to do any-"

Girav's large hand grabbed the Sergeant's arm. "We'll do our jobs, Zynn. And we'll both be just fine, okay?"

Zynn nodded slowly, quickly pulling himself together again.

The straggling humans Kaza was handling had grown into a mob of easily two dozen angry sapiens, all male.

Noticing, the Sergeant's mandibles flared, "Excuse me, sir. This could get bad," his talons wrapped around the hilt of his baton, "be right back."

Girav snorted as the fellow turian forced his way through thralls of bodies towards his partner. If there was one thing Zynn could be counted on, it was his insatiable need to get into the middle of just about every physical engagement. Sure, he probably cared a little about the rookie he was helping along, but nothing pleased the Sergeant more than busting a few heads every now and again.

The man had been around long enough to become a Captain, but a desk job wouldn't have suited him.

Turning his eyes back to his designated zone, his eyes fell upon a young child. The same little girl he saw with her mother not moments before, sprawled across the floor crying. Everyone around her was ignoring her screams for her mother, but they had enough dignity not to trample the girl.

Growling, Girav placed a talon to his ear, "Dispatch, this is Unit One-nine we got a young girl in the crowd. Human, apparently abandoned by her mother. Moving in to assist, copy?"

"_Roger that, Lieutenant."_

Forcing himself against a tide of people, Girav was berated by the thousands of voices. Some directed at him, others weren't.

"_Come now, child. Don't cry."_

"_Where do they expect us to go?"_

"_Hey, you! Pig! Fuck you and you other racist alien freaks!"_

"_Is this what you things want! To treat us like cattle!"_

Others grabbed on to him, pleading, _begging_ to let them stay.

All he could do was shrug them off and keep marching, until he kneeled by the little girl. She curled herself into a fetal position, tucking her knees as close to her chin as possible, hiding her face from the world. Careful with her, Girav gently placed a hand on her diminutive shoulder.

"Miss?" he called out softly, careful not to frighten the youngling. "I'm a C-Sec officer, I'm here to help. You can call me Gi-"

Quicker than lighting, the girl's tiny arms wrapped around the nape of his neck and buried her face against his, not caring about the tough, almost leathery hide that was his cheek. She was trembling as Girav lifted her off the ground, her tiny legs hugged his ribcage like a snake. Gently, the Lieutenant tucked an arm underneath the child and rose to his feet, turning back the way he came.

"Shhhh, you're okay, you're okay," he whispered to her, trying to get her to stop shaking. The human child was so different, but he couldn't help but think of her as he did his own niece. Ripples of memories across his mind, reminding him of his brother's child, the closest thing he ever had to a child of his own.

The child clung to him tighter as he forced his way back towards his patrol car, the only safe haven he could think of. He pressed a finger against his ear.

"Dispatch, I got the girl. I'm going to secure her in my car for now, keep her away from the crowds. Can you send me some Protective Service units? Over."

"_Sorry, One-nine. Several of the P.S. units are currently deployed elsewhere. You'll be the first to hear when one frees up, Dispatch out."_

The turian hid his annoyance as he carried the girl to his car, carefully whispering to her that everything would be all right.

"B-But I don't wanna sit in the back of the police car, I didn't do anything wrong."

He suddenly smiled and lifted her in front him as he neared the hood of his car, "No, no. Only bad people sit in the _back_ of the car, and from the looks of it, you seem like a really good girl."

A quizzical look, followed by her voice become a little bit stronger, "But…I thought only officers sit in the front."

Without another word Girav reached for his back pocket and removed his badge. He opened up the driver's side door and placed her in the seat and then placed it in her tiny hands. She looked up at him, confused.

"The good guys get to sit in the front, and laugh at the ones in back." He watched as she stared at the badge in wonder, her tears finally had stopped. It made him wonder for a moment why the hell humans were being shipped off in the first place, especially the ones with families. It just seemed wrong sometimes.

He closed shut the door slowly and then turned back for his post. The turian was met with the butt of a shotgun slamming into his stomach, causing him to double over. The blow was followed by a fist making contact right between his eyes, taking him to the ground. A flash of white streaked across his vision as head made contact with the door of his patrol car.

The girl inside the vehicle began screaming for him.

Girav saw three pairs of feet in front of him, his slowly clearing vision locking onto the man in the middle. Shining black dress shoes, well-kept black pinstriped suit, and dirty blonde hair.

Jacob Krieger.

* * *

><p>"Hello, Lieutenant Girav Allud."<p>

The turian's vibrant orange eyes found Krieger's, the plates that he supposed were the alien's brows immediately folded into an expression of anger.

"I take it you don't know my assistants. The man here to my right is Walter Arden, to my left is Saul Ferenco."

The turian remained silent.

Krieger merely smirked as he held out a hand, where Walter immediately placed a cigarette and lighter. His jade green eyes drifted from the turian to the patrol car he was pressed against. The human pondered, "Now, what's a little _human_ girl doing in your vehicle, Lieutenant?"

"The hell are you still doing on the Citadel, Krieger?" Pure venom laced the alien's voice. He slowly moved his talons towards the pistol on his belt.

The loud clack of a shotgun being armed froze his hand in place.

"Don't even think about it." Saul warned, pressing the barrel against Girav's forehead. The former marine glanced at Krieger, "What do you wanna do with him? Waste him?"

"No." Krieger shook his head. "Take his cuffs, restrain him, and then get the girl out of that car."

Walter's tall frame kneeled, grabbing the restraints attached to the officer's belt.

Krieger lit the cigarette and then placed it between his lips, smoke immediately bellowed from his nostrils. He smirked, "So, what did you do with this child, huh? You took her from her parents?"

The Lieutenant refused to answer as Walter activated the restraints, binding the turian's wrists together. Krieger then watched as his two assistants hoisted the turian to his feet and grabbed the girl from the car. She screamed and thrashed as Saul grabbed her tiny arm and dragged her towards a fourth man, who quickly disappeared into the crowd.

"Leave her alone!" The turian shouted, making a turn for the girl. "She's just a kid!"

Walter forced the Lieutenant backwards, "We're taking her back to _her_ people. Humans, a species that doesn't sell each other out because of bad blood and politics."

Before Girav could even think of a reply, his radio crackled to life.

"_Hey, LT? Where are you? You're still not back here yet, please respond."_

It was Zynn.

Krieger merely maintained his grin, "Go on, answer."

Mandibles flaring, Girav readied to give out the distress code. Just one simple word that signified danger that would threaten the station's security. He felt the barrel Saul's shotgun pressing against the back of his skull.

"Don't even think about uttering the word 'Luna', I'll blow your head off."

"Shit!" Girav spat, fire in his voice as he shouted at the human in front of him, still casually smoking. "How the hell do you know that?"

The only response was smoke being blown in his face and a haughty little nod from Krieger. Girav growled and snapped his teeth before pressing a finger to his ear, "Ran into some trouble with the girl, Zynn. Everything's fine. Stay at your post…" He hesitated for a moment, feeling the cold barrel press harder against him. "…Lieutenant Allud out."

With that, Krieger merely smothered his cancer stick on the Lieutenant's shoulder plate and turned, nodding into the crowd. He glanced once more at the officer before speaking aloud, "All units, 'Peasant' is a go," Krieger paused, contented with the words passing from his lips. "Let's take back our homes."

Krieger then climbed into the driver's seat of Girav's car and fired up the engines, the vehicle lazily lifted off the ground.

"Thank you for your vehicle, Lieutenant." A coldness fell over Krieger's eyes as he stared at Saul and nodded towards the captive officer. "Kill him."

He slammed the door shut as blue gore spattered against the window like paint.

* * *

><p>"<em>This is unit Three-six! We are under heavy fire south of Deck Twelve. Multiple shooters, all appear to be human. Be aware, they are shooting at officers and unarmed civilians alike. Repeat, they're shooting civilians."<em>

Zynn hissed a curse as another bullet punched a hole through his car, bouncing off his kinetic barrier. He shakily forced another heat sink into his shotgun, before wildly jumping up to fire towards a pair of human males with rifles. He was met with a quick rebuttal of lead, forcing him back into his deteriorating cover.

"Shit." Zynn placed a talon to his ear. "Girav? Girav! I need somebody over here," he glanced at Kaza and then towards the dead officer slumped over on the floor not too far away. "Me and my rookie can't hold out forever, man!"

Suddenly, the hostile shots ceased and the sound of footsteps retreating quickly followed. Kaza, acting like a brash varren, jumped up at this and kept firing until his rifle overheated. He then switched to his pistol and screamed as he fired again and again, "Yeah! You damn monkeys better run!"

"They're not running." Zynn sighed as he let his spent weapon fall to the ground. "They're taking strategic points all over the Point. They know that we're not much of a threat anymore."

"What's their endgame? Why are they killin' civvies?"

Standing up, Zynn looked upon the now barren Deck 8 of Kyrix Point. Barren of life, anyways. There were plenty of bodies. Human, asari, and turian corpses littered everywhere like leaves fallen from a tree, blood pooling and mixing in with others. The Sergeant clicked his mandibles and whispered back, "You're askin' the wrong man, kid. I don't know what they want."

His eyes drifted towards the upper levels, where human rebels, if he could call them that, were storming a transport craft. They came out moments later, a long line of people who had just boarded were now being forced off. Slowly, his vision locked onto an object, or lack thereof, about a hundred and a half meters down their current deck. Where Girav's car should've been, wasn't. Zynn's heart skipped a beat.

The Lieutenant _never_ ran, and would _never_ abandon a post.

He activated his radio, "Unit One-nine, come in." Silence. "Unit Four-twenty to Unit One-nine, come in."

Starting at a brisk march, the Sergeant hailed the fellow turian again as a confused drell kept up. "Lieutenant, respond!"

Silence.

He began to run, not caring of the bodies he stepped over, the blood the stained his boots. "Girav! Spirits be damned you better respond right the hell now!"

Silence.

His feet carried him into a dead sprint, the rookie barely managed to keep up behind him.

And then he stopped, instantaneously. The armor was a dead giveaway. C-Sec Blue, the silver stripe of a Lieutenant going down both arms, and the scarred shoulder pauldrons from a psychopath who had a grenade on him two years back.

Zynn's throat tightened, his heart thumped loudly in his ears. He fell to one knee, unable to breathe, unable to _think_. All he could hear was Girav's radio, a few feet away.

"…_multiple fires have started across the Jayatta Ward! I need Emergency Response teams down here now!"_

"…_opened fire! Repeat, several humans have opened f-"_

"_Stay the hell out of Tayseri Ward! All officers make a fallback towards the Upper Ward, we have established a field HQ at Gavin's Keep on Third and…"_

"_What the hell is going on!"_

"_Security breach, security breach! Onaga Point has been taken by unknown hostile forces…"_

"_Send…Send a Emergency Response team d-down here…I'm hit…bleedin' real bad…"_

"_All units, the Citadel is experiencing a full on revolt and is under attack. I repeat, the Citadel is under attack!"_

* * *

><p>Peace.<p>

Again my sincerest apologies for being MIA for so long, hopefully you enjoyed and I plan to bring out chapters with regularity again soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Tuchanka was definitely no vacation resort, by any stretch of the imagination. Once blue rivers flowed with sickly green and brown liquids, mighty mountains were reduced to radioactive foothills. This was a constant reminder that the krogan home world was constantly under siege from its own inhabitants, the tank-like beasts slogging whatever weapons they had against their rival clans. And they had a plethora of arms.

Bullets pinging against the hull of your ship, the rockets narrowly missing, and a VI's repeated warnings of a nuclear launch were to be expected.

The hollow corpses of what were once towering buildings laid on their sides, shattered into large sections. Smashed chunks of concrete littered the ground around mangled metal spires, tattered clan flags flown from their tops.

Private First Class Mitchell Young couldn't help but shake in his hardsuit. He had never been groundside for anything, not even for training. Every moment of his short military career, the marine spent had it either on space stations or aboard ships, ever since he was first picked up by a recruiter from one of Earth's few habitable zones.

He was then brutally trained by the hardest of drill instructors aboard Arcturus Station and the SSV _Xerxes_. The Earthling was taught how to wear the Alliance Marine uniform with pride, how to fire his rifle, and most importantly, he learned what it meant to be a soldier for the Alliance. It meant that you were willing to put the needs of mankind well above your own, the lives of millions over one.

But never once did he think he was going to drop into the krogan homeworld and get to see honest-to-god aliens. Especially krogan.

"All right!"

Every marine in the dropship turned their heads towards the front of the front of the tiny bay they were crammed in.

Operations Chief Marston Wesley then announced, "Take ya' rad pills now, boys. Then get your buckets on! We're hitting the ground in two."

With that Mitchell and the eight other marines in the small craft the thumb-sized pills into their mouths, the pill itself designed to protect soldiers from the harsh, radioactive atmosphere of Tuchanka. Apparently the hardsuits kinetic barriers and armor plating wasn't enough to keep the radioactivity at bay.

Comforting.

The Private then slid his helmet over his head and locked into place with his neck-guard, sealing the man off from the outside world.

Wesley checked his omni-tool with a shaky hand, and then announced, "Lock and load, people! Once we hit the ground, I want Young and Cortoza on point." The two marines lifted their eyes from their weapons. "You two got the biggest guns we got, and although the Commander assures me this won't turn into a shitstorm, I won't take any chances with the krogan."

It was a fair enough assessment. Mitchell carried the teams only Revenant, just like Cortoza carried the only rocket launcher. But the stories of the krogan being organic tanks with hide likened to titanium plating made the Private feel a little more than just uneasy.

The chatter from the pilot picked up.

"_This is Stormbreaker Three-six, fallout is moving westward and is not over the current LZ. We've been painted by at least eight different anti-air towers, but have not been fired upon. You sure you wanna land, sir?"_

Commander Ryker's icy voice came in, _"Do it."_

"_Aye aye, sir."_

Mitchell could feel the shift of the dropship rearranging its course, heading straight for the landing zone, a small tower on the grounds of the Uerthe Clan. The Private had studied a bit of krogan culture in high school. Described as walking tanks that were built to survive and thrive in the worst of conditions. They were a brutal, clan-based society, favoring physical domination over political. The stronger clans attempted to either assimilate or annihilate the weaker ones. Females were coveted above all else, ever since the genophage ravaged the species' ability to reproduce, clan warfare was not as brutal as had once been.

Before, the krogan would wipe out an opposing clan if they refused to join forces, indiscriminately killing the men, women, and children. Now, however, the aliens would spare the women and children whenever possible.

Suddenly, the dropship rocked as it touched down upon the roof of the concrete structure. Rising to his feet, Mitchell slapped a fresh heat sink into his weapon an moved towards the exit ramp.

He looked back to Wesley shakily wiping sweat off his forehead before putting his helmet on. The Chief caught the Private's gaze and warned the entire squad, "This here is the wild west, boys. Everyone is packing heat, and they'll kill you for lookin' at 'em funny."

The ramp began to drop, and the furiously hot air of Tuchanka wrapped around each marine.

Taking his tentative first steps onto an alien world, Mitchell Young came face-to-face with the first alien he's seen in person.

It was big. _Very _big. At least seven feet tall, the creature was covered in battle scars and scorched pieces of armor. The large plate that covered its head was once a bright red, but know stained with ash, blood, and several gashes. Intelligent orange eyes followed the Private's, straight through his visor.

The krogan chuckled, not worried about the group of humans before him.

"I thought you humans would be more impressive." It spoke methodically, tone so low it seemed almost menacing. The orange eyes never left Mitchell as the alien grinned, "I could break you, human. Then probably eat you."

Mitchell's heart jumped into his throat, and the grip he had around the Revenant in his hands tightened, finger inching ever so closer to the trigger. He noticed out of the corner of his vision Cortoza was nervously bouncing on the soles of her feet. Like the giants of old fairytales, the alien approached the two lead marines with each step sounding like a thunderous boom to them.

"We're here to see Clan Leader Araxx, krogan," Wesley spoke up, leading the rest of the marines off the dropship. "Show us the way or move."

The beast snorted, dragging his large fingers over the scars that traced along his crest, "And if I think you're unworthy of being in Uerthe Araxx's presence? What then, human?"

"Then I'll make you move, krogan."

The krogan's orbs darted towards the dropship. Standing atop the exit ramp was a human of familiar stature. The deep blue markings of his armor gave him away instantly.

Slowly, the krogan smiled again, "Ryker…I haven't seen you since Noveria…that was a hell of a fight."

The Commander moved past his marines and extended his arm to the krogan, who in turn grabbed it and shook.

"Travak. Your ugly ass hasn't fared well over the years, has it?"

A laugh, followed by a wide grin of stained teeth, "No. I doubt you've held up so well yourself."

Ryker's seemingly warm façade turned cold, "Trav, I need to see Araxx, it's important that I meet with him as soon as possible."

The krogan nodded and without question motioned the Commander to follow. Quickly, Ryker turned and ordered his marines to fall in as they marched, the alien taking the lead.

They were guided down the tower and into the main encampment of the Uerthe Clan. Mitchell felt almost at home for a moment. The entire area seemed to be designed like a military base, albeit littered with rubble from once tall buildings. One could easily make out defensive emplacements if the walls and outer defenses fell, tents probably meant for troops, and a small concrete structure meant for officers, or in this case, clan leaders.

What the Private couldn't get over where the aliens. Krogan of different shapes and colors were everywhere. Some sat on large stones, tending to their weapons while the never-ending din of gunfire was a constant reminder that battle was always near. Others were _fighting_ each other. It wasn't simple sparring, but full on combat.

Orange blood covered the face of a younger alien as it fell to the ground, where the much older battlemaster kicked the youngling square in the face.

The small crowd that was gathered around the fight watched silently as the krogan ordered, "Get up, splitplate!" Another kick. "You should've died in the womb along with your thousand other siblings! You aren't worthy of the title of kro-"

Sweeping his foot out, the youngling brought his battlemaster to the ground, jumping up and slamming his head plate against his foe's. Growling, the youngling then grabbed his throat. The crowd broke into cheers.

"Good," the battlemaster wheezed. "You're learning!"

And others simply watched the passing humans, some seemed to be intently interested, most seemed to not care. It was…unsettling to the young marine.

"_Hey, Young." _It was Cortoza, coming in over his headset.

"Yeah?"

"_Calm the hell down,"_ the woman spat. _"I can hear your damn breathing over the mic. Cool it."_

He didn't even realize he was breathing that hard. Nervously holding in his breath, the marine squeezed the gun a little tighter.

Leading them all to the modest concrete building, Travak halted just outside motioned Ryker inside, "The other humans will have to stay, Ryker. Araxx doesn't like dealing with more than one little bastard at a time."

Ryker grinned, "I have no idea how he dealt with you all this time." He turned to his marines, "Squad, hold positions here. I shouldn't be long."

* * *

><p>"You raid my camp, slaughter my finest warriors, take the women and children for yourself, destroy our ammo depots, and now you offer me this?"<p>

Uerthe Araxx nodded slowly, "I offer you safety from death, Urdnot. That should be enough. I had my men spare you because I knew you were the strongest amongst your clan. You will start at the bottom of my clan, but I will allow to earn it all back. You may mate, become a battlemaster. Consider my kindness carefully."

The battle-scarred warrior before him growled and spat at the feet of Araxx, "Screw you, bastard."

Rising from his stone 'throne' Araxx stood in front of the defiant Urdnot warrior. Araxx placed a hand on the much younger krogan's shoulder, "You're very brave. I admire that." His free hand shoved the barrel of a shotgun into the Urdnot's stomach. "What I don't admire however, is stupidity."

The gun came to life, blowing a hole straight through the Urdnot warrior, spraying orange gore across the far wall and over the backs of Araxx's guards, who were watching the entrance with machine-like discipline.

Gasping for breath, the Urdnot warrior stumbled backwards and fell.

Pumping the weapon, Araxx approached and then pressed the his weapon against the Urdnot's head, firing again. Head whipping back as his plate was split in half, the defiant krogan spastically threw a balled fist out in a punch.

The Clan Leader fired again. Still twitching with life or brain damage, he didn't care.

Araxx huffed, "Defiant to the end, huh?"

He unloaded another shot. No more punching, no more twitching.

"Business as usual, Araxx?"

The Uerthe leader looked up. It was almost as if an apparition was before him, taking the form of a human he had long believed would never return to Tuchanka, but the icy blue gaze that met Araxx immediately banished all of those thoughts.

"Charles Ryker." Araxx holstered his weapon and approached the Commander. He lifted a hand in greeting.

The human removed his helmet, the confident grin that always seemed plastered on his face was there. Ryker took the krogan's hand and shook hard, "Araxx, it's been a long time. I've seen you taken a lot of territory. You only used to have control of the canyons to the east the last time I was here."

Araxx finally smiled, remembering when the human first landed on Tuchanka. "Now Clan Uerthe owns everything from here to the Deadlands, my friend."

The old krogan leader vividly recalled when his clan was one of the smallest and weakest, at its worst consisting of only three dozen. He had once seriously considered melding with the considerably stronger clan Urdnot at the time, but Travak and many of the other battlemasters rejected this notion.

Being a krogan meant hardship, and they were willing to go through hell to maintain their heritage.

And now, Uerthe was well over a thousand strong and controlled much of the region, if not all.

"Impressive," Ryker nodded. His eyes fell to the body on the floor. "Friend of yours?"

Shaking his head, the krogan sat back down on his 'throne' and sighed, "He was an Urdnot warrior. One of the strongest krogan I've seen, but when I gave him the choice between loyalty to our clan or death, well…" Merely motioning to the corpse, Uerthe's commander turned his blood-red orbs to the Alliance officer, "What do I owe this visit, Ryker. Last time I heard from you, you were hunting a rogue sects of your own kind. What happened to that?"

Ryker's eyes fell to the floor, "They won…"

The krogan merely watched him for the next few moments, patiently waiting for the human to speak.

"But that's not why I'm here." He brought up his omni-tool and prepped a video for the krogan, who merely waved it off.

"I know what's been happening on the Citadel. Mass evacuations." Araxx smiled and snorted at Ryker's surprised face, "Just because Tuchanka doesn't have a reliable connection to the extranet, information gets out quick, my friend. I am well-informed of the current situation regarding your kind."

All the human commander could do was smile, "Then you must know why I'm here."

"Obviously wasn't to admire the scenery."

"Humanity needs a home, Araxx. The few colonies we have in the Terminus are constantly under attack and we don't have nearly enough manpower to hold any of them for much longer, Earth is beyond far gone, and now the Citadel isn't an option."

"So, what do you plan on doing about it?"

Araxx took in the information bit by bit as Ryker explained. Mankind was planning to force the Council races off the Citadel. The krogan merely huffed, "That's a ballsy suggestion. If your Alliance is as undermanned as you say, how can you possibly take on the fleets of all three Council races? Any one of them have you outmanned, it seems."

"That's where the quarians come in."

The clan leader chuckled, "The suit-wearing vagrants? I'm pretty sure that you've had a few choice words for them yourself, my friend. None of them kind."

Slowly stepping over the Urdnot corpse, Ryker stood next to the alien and slowly stated, "I…have had several negative experiences with quarian race. Personally, I have found them to be a pack of hyenas willing to stab you in the ass as soon as they get what they want. If they choose to accept our proposal, their fleet and marines will greatly strengthen our forces."

Araxx remembered the quarian homeworld, he had visited with his battlemaster roughly three hundred and twenty-five years ago in an attempt to acquire higher-grade weaponry. Well before the geth insurrections, Rannoch was a paradise compared to Tuchanka, but the inhabitants left much to be desired.

The quarians relied far too much on technology and their physical stature reflected that. One could take their strongest warrior and pit them against the youngest splitplate the Uerthe clan had, and the splitplate would win every single time. But, they were a keen and very intelligent race.

The clan leader could see the technological usefulness within the quarians, along with the sheer size of their fleet, they could prove useful to many.

Slowly leaning back, the krogan questioned in a low tone, "So, tell me then, Ryker…Where do the krogan feature in all of this?"

* * *

><p>"This is an outrage!"<p>

"Admiral Azzereth you will show respect to the Grand Admiral!" Admiral Zinnesh'Ull hissed, taking a step towards the woman.

Norta'Azzereth ignored him. She didn't care about respect for rank and titles, all that mattered was the safety of the fleet. Every cell in her body boiled with rage, and _Keelah _be damned she wasn't going to get her word in.

The Grand Admiral stood silently before the woman, eyes locked onto hers. Here within the private admiralty chambers aboard the _Rayya_, there were no watchful eyes to temper the fiery quarian, no citizens of the Migrant Fleet to upset with her venomous words. Everyone in this room were equals, no one greater than the other.

"How can we possibly just open up our peoples' fleet to these apes!" Norta shouted, easily moving past Zinnesh. "Grand Admiral, do you know what they are capable of? Whatever notions that 'Ryker' gave you are false."

Staying silent, the silver eyes from the Grand Admiral watched the woman carefully.

"Whatever he said, he was lying. Mankind is no more brutal a species than the yahg or krogan." Her voice began to crack, hoarse from her constant flow of bellowing.

Karlan, who had been watching from the farthest corner of the room with Tmali, grit his teeth. He didn't like the Grand Admiral's decision much either. None of the lower officers did.

Effective immediately, all human Alliance vessels and personal are to be treated as if they were Migrant Fleet ships and citizens, at least to a certain point. If the Alliance requested aid, whether humanitarian or military, the quarians would assess the situation and provide as the Admiralty saw fit.

"Tell me, then." The Grand Admiral spoke, tone even. "Why do you despise humanity so much?"

Norta was taken aback slightly by the inquiry. The woman honestly didn't expect a response of any kind from her superior. Gathering herself, Norta spoke carefully, "During my Pilgrimage, I found work with a turian military unit during the First Contact War. I was assigned to a mechanized brigade whose job it was to provide support and repair for an armored division stationed on the human colony world of Kishinev."

"Kishinev?" Karlan whispered. "You mean the K-"

"Yes, I do. 'The Killing Fields on Kishinev'." Norta stated with her sharp tongue. "As I said, I was assigned to help out with repairs, since my suit prevented me from getting near the front lines. Relatively, we were distant from the front lines, at least several hundred kilos between us and the trenches. At least, that's what the Hierarchy claimed when the offered me the job. That all changed a month after I hit groundside." She wrapped her arms around herself, the wall of fire that seemed to define her began to snuff itself out. "It was early morning, I was fixing a tank that limped itself all the way to us from the trenches. I was the only one awake at such an hour, to early for even turians."

Everyone may have known the story of Kishinev, but no one, not even Karlan, knew that Norta was there.

"The humans struck fast and in large numbers, not allowing the turian soldiers to react. They struck the forward warning and alarm hubs first, cutting off a substantial portion of the rear lines from the rest of the world. Marines dragged the turians out of there barracks at gunpoint, then rounded up the doctors and wounded as well. I tried hiding in the same tank I was fixing, but they eventually found me."

She then told them they were all forced to march several miles south, until they came upon these jade green fields. The humans forced the wounded into the center of the field first.

"A group of rifleman took aim for the wounded that could stand. One human, an officer, taunted them saying that 'if they stopped bleeding' they'd let them live. The others laughed. And then…they fired. All of this while in front of me and the captive turians. Then they'd take a group of turians, usually five or six at a time and shoot them. One at a time. If they tried to run, the humans would laugh and just wait until he almost got to the tree line and then have a sniper pick him off."

This went on for hours, dragged out specifically for the psychological torture, right before their execution. Everyone knew the statistics. Well over several hundred turians were executed as official prisoners of war.

"The human general, who approved of all this, deemed that I was a 'civilian contractor' and would not have to suffer the same fate as the others." Norta shakily explained, hot tears dripping down her cheeks. "I saw people I've gotten to know, one I came to love, all murdered. And they _enjoyed _it. You could see it in their eyes, like starved varren getting meat for the first time. They reveled in the dark blood that soiled their weapons and armor…" Her voice became a ghostly whisper, "How can we forge an alliance, knowing _that_…"

Several moments had passed in utter silence, save for the din created from the ship running. No one within the tiny chamber would speak, nor could they.

Finally, after what felt like eons of silence, the Grand Admiral approached Norta and embraced her. The grief-stricken woman clung to her superior, only to hear her fellow quarian whisper to her, "I'm so sorry, Norta. I'm so sorry…" The Grand Admiral released the woman and marched to the center of the chamber, "Despite Admiral Azzereth's arguments, it is my sole duty to make the final decision on what course our people shall take."

The Grand Admiral's eyes fell to the floor.

"Not only for the benefit of the current generation of quarians, but for the future generations as well." The quarian sighed, muscles beginning to tremble, "The quarian fleet will assist the Alliance Navy in an upcoming operation to take control of the Citadel from the Council races."

Four pair of silver eyes found the Grand Admiral in shock and confusion.

All the Grand Admiral could do, was keep both eyes locked on the floor.

_Keelah, please forgive me._

* * *

><p>That took MUCH longer than it should have, and for that you have my deepest apologies. You guys are awesome though.<p>

Peace.


	9. Chapter 9

"We've made a grave mistake."

Silence was all that followed Kalai Valern's statement. The councilor sighed as his dark eyes gazed upon the Citadel from the Council's tower, far above the riots and killing that was going on below.

The salarian could make out pillars of smoke drifting upwards from burning buildings and explosions from human-made car bombs, which were becoming a frequently used weapon against C-Sec forces.

"Military intervention is going to be necessary…" Councilor Sparatus said aloud to no one in particular as he paced back and forth, the turian ignoring whatever his salarian counterpart had said. He wrung his clawed fingers together as his eyes glanced from the vid-screens along the wall and his omni-tool, both displaying constant streams of info regarding the current, tumultuous situation sweeping the Citadel. "…it's obvious C-Sec can no longer handle this problem."

Tevos sulked in the corner, not even willing to look up at the station's skyline anymore, "Problem? I'd say this is slightly larger than a mere problem, Councilor. I'd say it's more of a disaster."

"We can still right all of this, stop this violence." Valern pushed again, the salarian unwilling to be ignored. "Let the humans stay."

Sparatus immediately objected, "Are you insane! It would undo several weeks worth of progress!"

"You call this progress? Look out the window, Councilor. Can you honestly call C-Sec officers and humans killing each other in the streets progress? Because I call that slaughter!"

The turian let his mandibles flare, "The humans don't deserve to be here in the first place! They're unpredictable! Look at this bloodshed, look at it! You want them to stay? After this!"

"This only started when we made them leave! Like it or not, the humans were melding with society! Peacefully I might add."

Clucking his tongue, Sparatus marched off, taking a large contingent of honor guards with him.

Valern couldn't believe that turian. He had it out for the humans, letting the outcome of a thirty year-old war fester like a dirty wound. Using his hatred, the turian managed to convince Tevos it was necessary to give humans the boot, finalizing the ruling over Act 24-21H.

Suddenly, the asari appeared next to him, bloodshot eyes looking out at the arms of the Citadel. Valern had never seen the woman so broken up. She was always the voice of harmony when the other two Councilors butted heads, the one who brought them both off their soap boxes when they got enthralled in the concerns for their own people. The wise asari was always looking towards the future, the big picture.

Now she looked like a hollowed-out shell, her arms tucked in at her sides as she silently observed the chaos before them.

They both stood there, in silence. The weight of their decisions sitting squarely upon them.

* * *

><p>Everything was silent. Skeletons of cars lined the streets, charred bodies of aliens and humans alike were spread about everywhere, almost randomly.<p>

Gavin Romanko looked around, vision hazy. His chest hurt, every breath was like drinking napalm. Blood trickled down his chest, underneath his torn shirt. Looking down, Gavin noticed his hands were bound together at the wrist by cuffs.

"What the…?" He wheezed, the words limping past his lips. Eyes moving from the cuffs, he noticed the skin along both his forearms was burnt and covered in cuts.

_What the hell happened?_

Suddenly, his mind caught up with the rest of his body.

_Emptying another bottle between his lips, the barkeep slowly stumbled towards the front door of his once-thriving tavern. _

"_C-Sec, open up!" A short pause, followed by more pounding on his door. "Gavin Romanko, we know you're in there. Come out now, and we won't have to force our way in." The tell-tale sound of an omni-tool being brought to life emanated from the other side of the door. "Let's make this easy for everyone, Mister Romanko."_

_Snickering at the officer's warnings, the human threw the bottle to the ground and slapped a hand against the control panel. The metal portal split to reveal a burly turian and comparatively tiny asari, both in C-Sec garb._

"_You're going to have to come with us, Mister Romanko." The asari said flatly._

_The turian added forcefully, "Now."_

"Awww…shit." Gavin placed both of his cuffed hands against his forehead.

_Gavin didn't realize just how bad a mistake he had made until the turian grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the ground. He felt a razor-sharp talon press against his windpipe._

"_You damned monkey!" The alien shouted, using his free hand to wipe the spit from his eye. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you within an inch of your life!"_

_Already past both of them, the asari shouted from behind the bar, "We got a gun over here!" Lifting up the weapon, she gave a sharp whistle to her partner, "Damn nice shotgun he has here. Gettin' ready for a war, just like the rest of you humans, huh?" Slinging the shotgun over her back, the asari then approached the barkeep with cuffs, "Get him up, let's get him in the car."_

He was in the backseat of a severely damaged patrol car, the windshield was shattered, no officers in the front seats. Everything was still dead silent.

"_Unit Six-fifteen?"_

_The asari in the driver's seat responded, "Go ahead, Dispatch."_

"_We got a large civil disturbance down by the outpost in Tayseri Ward, and you're the closest to it. Requesting that you go down there and check it out, over."_

_The weight of the vehicle shifted immediately, neither alien saying a word as the car made its way for the designated area. Lifting his pistol, the turian turned in his seat and glared at the human with cold green eyes, "Now you're gonna stay in the car like a good little ape while we deal with this, understood?"_

_Gavin just stared back, too tired so respond. Frankly, he didn't care much either._

"_I'll take that as a 'yes'."_

He remembered the landing, the eruption of gunfire.

"_Damn it!" Another bullet pinged against the hull of the car. The turian forced the door open and quickly got out, rifle in hands. _

_Baring teeth, the asari turned to Gavin and ordered him to stay put. She then yanked the barkeep's weapon from the gun mount and followed her partner into the fray. _

_Moving in tandem, both officers quickly found cover and returned fire to a group of humans hiding out inside an empty Armstrong Solutions storefront. Purple skin glowing white, the asari sent a wave of biotic energy towards her aggressors. Anyone inside would've been sent flying from the sheer force alone, while the following eruption of energy turned flesh into shreds of gore._

_Turning his rifle towards the street, the raptor-like turian shouted, "Contacts, twelve o'clock!"_

_A large group of humans were moving towards them, all armed with a motley assortment of weapons ranging from pistols to sniper rifles. They easily had the officers outnumbered ten to one._

_Gavin hugged the seat he was stuck in as best he could, praying that a stray bullet wouldn't end him. _

_He saw a man charge the officers, a primed grenade in his hand, ready to throw. His head cracked in half from the turian's rifle and he fell, grenade incinerating his body. Other humans kept up the heat from wrecked cars and open doorways, giving both C-Sec officers a constant shower of bullets._

"_New contact, low-flyin' car, straight ahead!"_

_A civilian vehicle floated mere feet from the ground, a human stood next to it with an omni-tool wrapping around her arm. She gave the officers a little salute and pressed a button._

_The car began to charge for the officers, full speed. _

_Tossing the shotgun away, the asari threw herself in front of her partner and threw both hands forward. Her eyes went from a pale gray to a radiant blue, and a solid wall of biotics formed._

_Impact was almost instantaneous, the front end of the vehicle crumpled and forced the asari backwards. Grunting, she forced even more power from her body to stop the vehicle._

_Laughing, the human from the far end of the street sauntered away and deactivated her omni-tool._

_The flash of orange was the first thing Gavin saw, a bone-shaking thunderclap rocked his ears, and shattered glass and heat are the first things that set his nerves ablaze. Then utter blackness as his head slammed against the side of the vehicle he was still trapped in._

Distant voices bring the barkeep out of his hazy state of half-consciousness and forced him to start thinking again. He was trapped in a ruined C-Sec vehicle, unarmed and bound, on a space station where every alien was now his enemy. He needed to get moving, right now.

Wrapping his arms around the headrest of the driver's seat, Gavin awkwardly climbed into the front of the vehicle to find the controls unresponsive.

The voices began to get closer, the human counted at least five individual ones, maybe more.

Panicking, the barkeep vaulted forward and tried to crawl through the shattered windshield and onto the hood of the patrol car. Jagged bits of glass nicked him everywhere as he crawled forward, determined to avoid arrest.

_Anywhere but the Terminus_, he kept telling himself. _Anywhere but the Terminus._

"Hey, we got a live one!"

Gavin hissed a curse and wildly attempted to get to his feet, only to get caught underneath his own shoe. He landed face-first onto the hood of the car, and if he didn't have a concussion before, he soon earned one. Rolling off the hood, his skull came down hard against solid ground. A flash of white blinded him.

Every part of his head throbbed with renewed agony as his legs simply refused to move this time, the rest of his body unwilling to take any more punishment.

Footsteps were getting louder, closing in on him.

Groaning, the barkeep rolled onto his stomach and began to crawl with what all the might he had left, which wasn't much.

It seemed to be in vain though, as a frighteningly strong hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him to stop. "Easy lad, easy." The voice was male, a slight tinge of Scottish. "We're not the enemy, you're gonna be okay."

The hand forced Gavin to roll back over. Kneeling over the barkeep, was a man fully wrapped in combat armor. His thin visor had bright blue eyes shining through it.

"Jesus Christ," the armored figure muttered as he brought up his omni-tool to scan the barkeep. He took a look at the scene around the man, and then back. "How the hell did you get through this? It was a slaughter down here."

"M-Medi-gel…"

The blue eyes looked over the omni-tool's reading, then focused on Gavin again, "Sorry lad, we're on short supply. Whole station is cut off. Used up most of it when the fighting broke out."

Another voice, Gavin couldn't see him, much harsher than the Scot's. "Then give him some damn painkillers, we're begging to get picked up by C-Sec just sittin' out here."

Omni-tool glowing yet again, the Scot placed it against the barkeep's arm. A slight sting and soon warmth filled Gavin's veins.

Then blackness wrapped around his vision.

* * *

><p>"So, who are you again?"<p>

"Arnold McCarthy. Friends call me Archer. Former Alliance Marine Corps." The man rubbed a hand through his dirty blonde hair. He had a long scar tracing from the eyebrow down his left cheek, ending at his chin. Out of combat armor this man was a massive hulk of muscle. "Now, who are you?"

Gavin shifted nervously upon the tiny bed he sat upon. The room he was in was small, probably a repurposed walk-in closet to fit people.

"Gavin Romanko, wh-"

'Archer' smiled and clapped his hands together, laughing as if he just saw the horse he bet on cross the finish line. "Yes! I knew it."

"Excuse me?"

Still giggling to himself, Archer leaned back in his chair, "Sorry, sorry. You're the owner of Gavin's Keep. I went there all the time before…" he sighs, eyes looking to the floor. "…before this shit-heap happened."

Neither said anything after that. Archer put his head in his hands and began to rub his temple, as if to force something out of his memory.

"So," the barkeep broke the quiet, "where am I?"

"Old apartment complex, Tayseri Ward. Now we found you out on the streets, right over by the old C-Sec outpost. Hell of a firefight went on over there yesterday. Once Krieger set everything in motion, every human in Tayseri took up arms." Archer began to trace his scar with a finger, "I couldn't even begin to tell you how many people died down there, alien or not. That outpost was also same place where people started using car bombs…" Archer shook his head and sighed, "…messed up shit…"

"Yeah…" Gavin nodded, remembering the flames that wrapped around the officers that arrested him. "I saw that firsthand." Leaning against the wall that his bed rested next to, Gavin looked over the man with a discerning scan, "Who are you people exactly? The one's who picked me up?"

A simple shrug, "I guess you could call us Krieger's little army. While I personally don't hate the dextros and the asari and those froggy salarians, I am sure as hell not gonna be forced off the only stable home I've known." Scratching his chin, he looked up to the ceiling in thought, "Right now I'd say there's roughly about ninety or so of us here, holed up in this fortified apartment complex. Tayseri has become the nerve center and stronghold for mankind here on the Citadel." He stood up and motioned Gavin to follow, which he did.

His legs ached with every step, breathing still hurt, but nothing like it was before.

Archer halted, "Oh, and before I forget." His omni-tool flashed and a recess in the wall next to him retreated. Sticking a hand inside, he pulled out Gavin's shotgun, "Found this near where we picked you up, got your name engraved on it, so I figured you'd want it back."

The bartender slowly reached out and grabbed the weapon. Carefully looking over the firearm, he found not faults and slung it over his shoulder.

Smiling, Archer nodded and marched down the hall, "There's only one standing rule around here, mandated by Krieger to all humans left on the station; always be armed."

"Noted." Gavin muttered as he glanced into a side room.

It was packed with people, most sprawled about on beds or the floor, _bandages_ covering their wounds. Why were they using something as archaic as bandages when they lived in the world of medi-gel?

Yet again, Archer was there to fill him in. Every single human interest and business venture pulled off the Citadel within the past few days, including the Sirta Foundation. Sirta was the creator and only distributor of the medical miracle, and they made damn sure they took it with them. What little mankind had left on the station was used sparingly, in all likelihood the aliens were probably feeling the hurt as well.

Needless to say, a lot less people would have died had there still been a bountiful supply.

Leading Gavin into an elevator, the Scot immediately shut the doors and leaned against the wall. "Well lad, this is where you have to make a choice."

"A choice," the barkeep repeated, confused.

Archer nodded, tracing his scar with a finger again, "Yep. If we want to show the Council and the rest of their appeasers that we humans deserve to stay, we _need_ committed folk running this." His tone changed, his bright eyes seemed to darken. "_Dedicated _people. One hundred percent." Clearing his throat, Archer stood straight up. The Scot easily outsized the barkeep. "I need to know, Krieger needs to know, _humanity_ needs to know, Gavin. Are you willing to do what's right?"

Backing himself against the wall, Gavin remained silent.

Archer just laughed, "Fine, maybe the man himself can convince you." He slapped the button for the first floor on the control panel and leaned back, "Krieger is a man of words, not I."

* * *

><p>Peace.<p> 


	10. Chapter 10

Kalan McCordus was tired. For the past several days the Alliance's Vice Admiral had been sifting through report after report sent in from all over what was left of Alliance-controlled space.

A fresh batch of N7 Commandos had just graduated, mostly made up of young, upstart lieutenants and such.

Zones thirty-six and thirty-nine back on Earth were deemed semi-habitable, allowing scientists and engineers to perform the needed tests to see if repopulation was in order.

Proxima Noble, a mining world in the Terminus Systems where rather large amounts of precious metals were being harvested, went dark roughly seventy-hours ago. Absolutely no contact from anyone. Reports were coming in that the Batarian Hegemony had openly attacked the planet in force, smashing the satellite defenses before rushing the facilities on the surface.

Alliance patrols in the area hadn't reported in.

"Nirvana?" The Vice Admiral beckoned aloud.

"_Yes, Admiral McCordus?"_

His eyes narrowed as he pulled up Ryker's report again, one he had gone over and over again for the past several hours. The krogan had pledged a very tentative loyalty to the Alliance, their demands were very blunt. They wanted the best tech the quarians could provide, the best weapons the Alliance could give, and above all, they wanted a cure for the genophage. Uerthe Araxx was very clear when it came to this.

He didn't care if it took decades, centuries, or a millennia. The krogan wanted a cure.

_The salarians sure as shit ain't gonna do it,_ Araxx had said.

McCordus pulled up the exact numbers of warriors the krogan clan Uerthe, along with several other factions loyal to Tuchanka's dominant group, had offered up.

_Clan Uerthe: 563._

_Clan Gatatog: 312._

_Clan Vurtek: 279._

_Assorted minor clans: 110._

Nearly thirteen-hundred battle-tested soldiers. 'Living-tanks' many described them.

"_Admiral McCordus? You called for me." _The AI kindly reminded, her naked and ghostly figure appearing next to the man.

"Yes." The Admiral sighed. Over the past few weeks, a personal battle had waged in his mind.

Earth was far-gone, the colony worlds were the true future of humanity. Millions now lived far beyond the Sol system, fighting for a new life. Resources incalculable in value waited within the Terminus, ripe for the taking. But he had let the likes of Admiral Mikhailovich and Commander Ryker forget those goals. They had led him to believe that cutting off the head of the Council and taking the Citadel would bring mankind into a new era, that everything would be better for all.

"Tell Admiral Zahretsky to ready Second Fleet and our krogan friends. We're heading to Proxima Noble."

* * *

><p>"<em>Sir, I don't believe this decision is a very wise one." <em>Ryker stated as calmly as he could as he looked out the viewport to see the grayish-red planet of Proxima Noble floating in the void. The holographic figure turned to Admiral Gustav Zahretsky, _"My sources tell me the Citadel is divided! If we hit them now we can take the station."_

"Billions of credits worth of rare metals are processed through Noble's facilities." The Admiral stated matter-of-factly. "I don't have to tell what that means to all our fleets if we lose the planet."

The Commander held his tongue as the Admiral's eyes watched the man for a moment.

"Anything else, Commander? Or are you done questioning your superiors?"

There was obvious venom between the two. More than once had Zahretsky and Ryker butted heads like two old rams.

"_What happened to the patrols in the area?" _

Zahretsky's omni-tool came to life in his hand, "Decimated. The frigates were completely wiped out, the only cruiser on patrol was sheared in half and was left dead in space. No survivors."A sharp grimace. "Definitely batarian handiwork."

The colony was the same story, all contact lost, shortly after the patrol was cut off. That's were the Second Fleet came in.

"_If this was the batarians, though, where are they?" _Ryker asked as he looked over the radar panel that appeared before him. _"No ships of batarian make or model in the area, not a single trace of one. To me this seems more like pirates. I mean, they even go so far as to scuttle what's left of their ships so they can't be traced."_

"And where do you think pirates learned that? The Hegemony is among, if not the most secretive of governments in the galaxy." Zahretsky nervously scratched his cheek, feeling the indentations from where shrapnel had torn through. "Dismissed, Commander."

Without even a salute Ryker cut the holo-transmission, his image disappearing before Zahretsky.

But he barely noticed the lack of respect. Just the thought of batarians made the man's skin crawl a little.

It brought him back nearly thirty years, when humanity encountered its _second_ form of intelligent alien life.

During the First Contact War, the Admiral was just another young Lieutenant willing to 'stick it' to the turian 'menace'. Being attached to a recon flotilla didn't exactly give him that chance, though. He was stuck scanning planets and hiding from patrols. While that had been exciting at first, Zahretsky had always wanted to go groundside and fight alongside the marines. But as the end of the war came, Zahretsky's flotilla came across the batarian race for the first time.

Upon the surface of some backwater world, Zahretsky and a group of soldiers were dispatched to respond to a distress beacon from a downed super-freighter.

It was a Seoul-class Mover, meant for heavy-lift operations in deep-space. Illegal salvage teams favored them for their high cargo payloads.

The ship was in high orbit when it was struck by a ship-to-ship antimatter charge. It had hit the ground hard, creating a crater in the planet's surface almost akin to a small asteroid. Despite the violent impact, the ship had mostly held together.

Looking back, the Admiral wished he could erase the memory that was burned into his mind when he stepped over the lip of the crater. The batarians were tall, muscular aliens, the shortest one easily outsized any human. But their size wasn't what shocked Zahretsky.

The aliens were dragging the surviving crew members out of the ship by these nets attached to their omni-tools, the sharp wire digging into their skin. They pulled one man from the ship, a lanky man, most likely the captain of the vessel. When the nets were retracted, the biggest alien held him down while another took a small device and rammed it into the back of his skull. The captain screamed in agony before slumping over, passing out from the pain.

It was a slave-trade practice now known as 'culling', where a control device was forcefully implanted in the back of some poor soul's skull. The device would then forcefully rewire one's brain, turning them into a mindless, obedient shell. Perfect slave material.

That's how the batarians kept their Hegemony afloat, the slave trade.

Zahretsky forced his mind back to the task at hand. Opening up the comms, the Admiral spoke, "Chief Wesley?"

"_Yes, sir?"_

"Are your men ready?"

There was a slight hesitation. _"Uh…as ready as there gonna be, sir. But, are we sure we're dealing with batarians?"_

"Dead sure."

* * *

><p>"Whooooooooo!"<p>

Mitchell turned to see Cortoza on the other side of the room, shifting to either foot. She clutched her rifle tightly, a devilish grin splayed across her face.

"All aboard the freight elevator to hell!" She shouted with glee, all the while strapping her grenade launcher upon her back. "Going. Straight. Down!"

A deep chuckle grabbed the Private's attention. It was the krogan Travak, staring it the woman. He then began to lick his lips, orange orbs thorough looking over the marine. "She'd make a fine krogan…" he muttered under his breath, "…if only she was just a bit bigger. Heh heh heh."

Mitchell rolled his eyes and went back to checking his gear.

The other marines were going the same, gathering their weapons and armor. Wesley had already briefed them on their destination and what they expected to come up against.

Proxima Noble, a harsh planet located deep within the Terminus system. Her atmosphere was a nasty mix of carbon dioxide and neon, winds blew hard and were always constant, days where hot enough to melt lead and nights were cold enough to freeze pure alcohol. Acid-rain storms poured for days on end, only to clear for a few hours before the next storm came rolling in. The world was an inhospitable nightmare, her only redeeming qualities were the literal mountains of rare earth metals that were ripe for the taking.

And thus, the Alliance dispatched several mining teams, adding up to over two thousand men and women over several complexes dotted all over the surface.

They were going to the CC, or 'Capital Complex', as the miners living there had dubbed it. If anyone was going to hit the planet, they would surely start there.

"All right!" Wesley shouted, clad in full combat armor plus a breather helmet. "We are dropping straight into an acid storm! I expect you all to be in full survival gear, because I sure as hell ain't gonna write to your mommies and daddies tellin' them how your face melted off cuz you couldn't keep your helmet secure! Now get your rears onboard that dropship!"

Travak laughed again, "I was getting bored up here anyways."

"Wait," Mitchell gawked as the krogan hefted a gigantic shotgun. "You're coming with us?"

"Of course," the krogan curtly said, "not going to sit up here all day, might break something." He glared right at the marine, his breath fogged Private's visor, "Or I may just eat a little human when he least expects it."

Shuffling backwards, Mitchell suddenly felt ill.

* * *

><p>"<em>This is Stormbreaker Three-six, approaching the LZ. No signs of life. I got nothin' on thermals, over."<em>

Travak was ready. You could see it in his eyes, the way his body moved ever so slightly. Such a gigantic beast, yet so still in the moments just before combat.

Every human onboard was the exact opposite. Cortoza still shifted around as the ship pulled in to land. Mitchell squeezed his Revenant and then released, squeezed and then released. Walton and Fuller, the two flamethrowers in the squad, kept checking their weapons over and over again, trying to find faults that weren't there.

Wesley just sweat like a dog locked inside a sauna. He was soaked to his underpants before the dropship broke atmosphere.

The ship's frame rocked as it hit the CC's landing deck, bringing Wesley to his feet.

Without hesitating he ordered Walton and Fuller on point, ordered to torch anything that had four eyes and a bad attitude. Everyone else would file in behind them, with the krogan taking up the rear.

Personally, the Operations Chief would want the alien in front of him at all times, but Ryker said Travak was as reliable as any other soldier. Thing was, though, that Wesley took Ryker's words with a pinch of salt. He didn't know why, but he didn't like the Commander one bit.

"_Dropping the ramp." _The pilot said mechanically. _"Good luck boys, give 'em hell."_

Walton lit the end of his flamethrower and jettisoned a stream of fire into the atmosphere of Proxima Noble, Fuller quickly did the same.

"Flame one is hot!"

"Flame two hot!"

With that, both marines led the squad through the acidic rain, quickly towards the entrance of the main complex. Lighting fixtures flickered weakly as they passed by, distorted shadows danced about.

The main power to the facility had been cut, silencing any alarm and security systems in the process. Emergency power was the only thing left keeping the place running.

"Anything on motion?" Wesley called out as they settled in front of the main doors to the facility. He could hear the fizzle of acid as it burned against his barriers.

"Negative, Chief." Cortoza replied quickly, staring down at the tracker crudely taped to her rifle. "Nothing out here but us and the rain."

Grimacing, the Operations Chief eyed the tall doors in front of them. The main entrance was meant to allow the mining trucks quick access so they could dump their payload and head back out into the field. This meant the doors were almost always open, even in the event of a storm. Now they were closed.

Lightning flashed as Wesley turned to Mitchell, "Young? Think you can get this door open?"

The Private gave the metal portal a once-over and nodded, "Yeah, no problem." Bringing up his omni-tool, Mitchell attempted to get into the complex's security systems, but the lack of power made it impossible. "Agh. I can't get in. Emergency power is only meant to keep life support running, I can't get this door open, Chief."

"Great," the Chief snorted, "that's just great. All right, the auxiliary entrance is on the opposite side of the complex, we'll start there." Wesley turned to the two jarheads hefting the flamethrowers, "Well, let's move ladies! Walton and Fuller back on point!"

The squad quickly moved to the opposite end of the building, still no signs of life. Travak was getting restless now, complaining about the lack of things to shoot.

Wesley couldn't blame him. The batarians were most likely long gone, they would never stay hidden for this long.

Walton reached the door first and immediately tried the panel nearby to open it. He placed his flamethrower on the ground and then motioned Fuller to come over and assist. Digging their fingers into the crease between the doors, they pulled with all their might. It didn't budge.

Snickering, Cortoza took a knee and watched with enjoyment, "What's wrong boys? Door giving you trouble?"

The rest of the squad circled around the entrance, weapons ready. But the longer they took, and to no avail, the soldiers began to enjoy the scene of their two comrades struggling with the portal before them.

Rolling his eyes, Travak shoved past all the marines and bluntly told them to stay out of his way. Cracking his knuckles, the alien forced his stubby fingers into the crease and with what seemed like little effort pried the doors open.

Flashlights came to life to illuminate the dark innards of the CC.

"Marines! Move it up!" Wesley hissed, "Clear the facility, room by room. Give me a status update every two minutes. Krogan!" The leviathan turned, "You're with me."

In pairs of twos, the marines filed inside, branching off down different hallways.

Not waiting for the human, Travak marched inside, glad to be out of the rain. The place was ransacked. Windows were smashed, lockers were wide open, and bullet holes dotted the walls. There was a lot of blood too, either spattered like paint across a wall or dribbling in puddles on the floor.

But no bodies. Not even one. As Wesley and Travak began to push deeper, the story was the same thing for nearly every that housed a person. A lot of blood, but no body.

Soon every marine began to report in, all telling the same tale. Until Cortoza came on.

"_Uh, C-C-Chief?"_

Wesley halted and pressed a finger to his helmet. Cortoza never stuttered like that. "Go ahead, Corporal."

"_You need to get over to the command center right now. You n-need to see this."_

Taking off in a dead sprint, Wesley followed the painted markers along the walls to lead him all the way to the command center. He found Cortoza leaning against a wall, hands on her knees. Her whole body was shaking.

Stepping past her, the marine immediately found what shook Cortoza to the bone.

"Holy hell…"

Three bodies were strung up by their feet, dangling from the ceiling like meat. Their throats had been slashed, skin covered in lesions and bruises.

Wesley approached slowly and readied his omni-blade so he could cut down these pour souls. But something stopped the man dead in his tracks.

The foremost body that was left hanging had the crest of the Batarian Hegemony carved into his forehead.

* * *

><p>I figured I had to get this out sooner or later. Forgive me if it's not up to par with my previous chapters.<p>

Peace.


	11. Chapter 11

From now on I'll try to respond to your reviews, because the way I see it, if you have the time and effort to write me I seem like an ass not to write back.

_Black Talons_ has finally been updated if you're interested in that.

And I've got a new one-shot about Kal'Reegar posted, because killing the awesome man off in an email was a crime on Bioware's part.

* * *

><p>"From our findings, it seems the humans have made a series of alliances with several groups, primarily the quarians and a handful of powerful krogan clans."<p>

The Councilors looked disturbed when the STG agent before them recited his report.

"Unnecessary to mention the size of quarian fleet, but krogan numbers are worrisome." The salarian sniffed, drawing in air, "The Alliance has at the very least thirteen hundred krogan at disposal, possibly more. Then batarians attacked a human colony out in the Terminus, which means the Hegemony has ended their self-imposed exile to Khar'Shan. All points to batarian expansion. Human and quarian forces are mobilizing. It seems as if war is likely to break out."

"This news is," Valern searched for the right word, "alarming, to say the least." Then he smiled, "But interesting. In such little time, humanity has already forged new partnerships. Resourceful…ingenious."

Black eyes lighting up, the STG seemed to agree. "Hmm. Yes. Would love to see how this all plays out, if this didn't have major implications, of course."

"Before we focus anymore on what humanity is doing in the Terminus," Sparatus spoke up, voice hoarse from previous bouts of yelling with his colleagues, "lets try to deal with those on our doorstep, first."

About-facing, the STG agent knew his job was finished. While the situation here on the Citadel was troubling, he had his own issues to tend to.

_Ponder role in genophage, perhaps? _He thought. _No. Enough pondering. Living in past unhealthy. _Then he smiled. _Still need to contact nephew. Haven't answered last message, deserves to know how his uncle is doing._

"Commander Solus?" The turian's voice made Mordin Solus freeze in place, throwing an eye over his shoulder. Sparatus continued, "Watch over the situation involving the batarians closely. Get your unit ready to act, if need be."

* * *

><p>Stumbling into his home, Zynn threw aside his bag and dragged his feet over to his tiny living room. This was the first downtime he had gotten in weeks, plus after seeing Girav dead at Kyrix Point…it shook him up.<p>

He fell into the only chair in his apartment, sighing as he did. Every muscle was sore, his mind was clouded, his eyes hurt.

All he needed was sleep, maybe some booze, or that pretty girl down the hall who always gave him what humans called the 'sex eyes' every time he walked by. Unable, or unwilling, to do any of these, the Sergeant flicked on the vid-screen in front of him.

He didn't like what came on.

"_As you can see, with so many corporations - especially human corporations - pulling out so quickly and all at the same time has left its mark on the stock market. Nearly every major business venture will see a dip in their value, and when I mean dip, I mean a rather sharp dip. Experts suggest selling-"_

He switched the channel, only to find another newscaster.

"_-several hospitals have run dry of medi-gel, effectively dooming many patients for otherwise treatable problems. The Council has said they have their best scientists working on a replacement for the miracle drug, but no word on their progress. The death toll so far is believed to-"_

Shutting off the vid-screen, the turian leaned back and rubbed his temples. Sleep is what he needed. Bringing up his omni-tool, he selected the favored choice of meds for a C-Sec officer in dire need of rest. It helped him get a couple of winks during trying cases, maybe it would help him get through this hell.

Welnea used to be around for him when hard times came through, there to help him forget all of his cares in the world…but now she was just another bad memory that the Sergeant needed to forget.

Zynn slumped over in the chair before he knew it.

Harsh images played in his head, back when he was a rookie…when Girav was _his_ Sergeant.

"_Come on, kid. No sleeping on the job." The turian poked a rough finger at his colleague._

"_S-Sorry, sir. Long day." Private Zynn Nordum apologized with a shaky laugh, "My girl is just really happy for me. Proud that I got through the academy."_

_Girav huffed, clucking his tongue, "You haven't earned anything yet, rookie." Suddenly the older turian smiled, his eyes locking onto a drunken krogan stumbling down the street. He was shouting obscenities and complaining about the lack of fish in the Presidium's lakes or something. His smile grew wider as his eyes turned to his rookie, "You really want to impress this girl?_

_The rookie immediately saw the shambling beast and shook his head, "Oh no. No no no. __**No**__." Girav's smile looked like it was going to snap his mandibles in half. The much younger turian kept shaking his head, "Sir, you can't be serious!"_

_Reclining in his chair and throwing his hands behind his head, Girav merely chuckled, "Better hurry. He might hurt somebody."_

Time seemed to leap forward in Zynn's dreaming mind.

_Corporal Nordum and Lieutenant Allud carefully approached an obviously distressed salarian, pistols drawn, pointed at the ground._

"_Stay back! Stay back!" The amphibian screeched, holding up what looked like a black pipe in his hand. He kept claiming it was a homemade hand grenade, and he intended to use it. "Or I'll blow everyone here away!"_

_They didn't know what he even wanted. He just appeared on the street a few hours ago and then started shouting about the 'human plague' that was sweeping the station. People passed him by with little care, apparently used to his ramblings. Everyone took him seriously once the grenade appeared from his baggy jacket._

"_Just calm down," Girav said coolly, "we're all friends here."_

_The salarian backed up further against the wall behind him, brownish-red eyes going wide, "NO! Not. Friends. No ape is a friend." His thin fingers wrapped around the black cylinder in his hand tighter, his whole arm shaking._

_Sheathing his pistol against his hip, Girav approached the salarian with both hands low, palms up. "See? I'm not armed. Not a threat to you. I just want to help you, sort this whole thing out."_

_Zynn was close behind, sidearm ready, talon pressed up against the trigger._

_The Lieutenant spat a curse and whirled around, shoving Zynn backwards._

_A deafening boom rocked the Corporal's eardrums, an unseen force throwing both officers into the air._

_Ears ringing, the younger of the two officers pulled himself to his feet. The salarian was gone, the wall he pressed himself against was scorched and stained with flash-fried blood. Then he saw Girav. His armor was blackened, smoking from the heat of the blast. The shoulder pauldron looked as if a group of varren had attacked and chewed it all to hell._

_The Lieutenant suddenly jolted, shakily gasping as blood dribbled down his chin, "C-Corporal!"_

_Zynn immediately was at his superior's side, carefully taking an arm and helping him to his feet._

"_How bad is it?" Girav coughed._

_The younger turian could only manage a joke as helped Girav to their nearby car, "Well, you didn't get any prettier, sir."_

Time shifted forward yet again.

_Gavin smiled at them, brought the turian and his asari date their drinks. The human smiled as he announced, "Dextro vodka imported from Palaven for the cop, '27 Thessia White for the lady." Rubbing his hands together, the man asked, "Need anything else?"_

_Opening his mouth, Zynn was cut off when soft violet hands wrapped around his talons._

"_We're fine, Gavin. Thank you." Welnea said with her usual bright smile. As the bartender grinned and walked off, bright green eyes turned to the man sitting across from her, his gray orbs staring right back. The intricate red tattoos that covered Zynn's skin had faded slightly. He always promised her he'd get them redone or repainted, but he never got around to it._

_His talons squeezed her hands tight, "So, how was work?"_

_A grin creased Welnea's cheeks and she quickly stretched across the table, planting her elbows down as she whispered, "Lady Sha'ira called up the human ambassador today."_

"_Really?" That surprised Zynn. Most humans seemed to distrust the asari as much as turians. "Did he…y'know?"_

_Leaning back in her seat, Welnea chuckled, "No, I don't think he used her for sex. She contacted him first, wishing to offer him guidance. It seems she wanted to keep it secret though, as Lady Sha'ira used a secure connection to contact Ambassador Rowe."_

_The cop immediately smiled, "And how would you possibly know that she contacted him, then? It was a secure connection after all."_

_Taking a sip of her wine, the asari feigned a look of innocence, "Are you suggesting I hacked into my superior's computer, officer? I haven't read up on the current laws but," she leaned in again, slipping her hand around the back of his neck and pulled Zynn in close, "I'm willing to accept any punishment you believe is necessary."_

_Drawing in her scent, lavender with a hint of lemon, Zynn pressed his forehead against hers. As she massaged the back of his neck, he shivered under her expert touch._

"_Spirits…" He exhaled. "What did I do to deserve you?"_

_Welnea closed her eyes. "Oh hush," she commanded, and when they opened again, they were as black as the void of space. "Kiss me."_

The Sergeant awoke with a start, hand going to a gun on his hip that wasn't there.

He felt her straddle him almost immediately, felt that warm pressure that he had once been so familiar with. He saw her, right before his eyes. Violet hands worked along his chest, full lips against his forehead.

_This isn't real,_ his brain quickly reminded him as he wrapped his talons around her hips, catching her lips with his. What he saw, what he felt. It was all empty. The Welnea before him was a ghost, a shade.

A side effect of the meld, the fingertips of her consciousness still twirling along inside of his own.

He didn't care. Comfort was comfort.

No matter how hollow it was.

* * *

><p>"Clear the firing range!"<p>

Placing the briefcase before him, Jortun'Reegar glared at the abomination restrained at the far end of the range. Geth infantry unit, Seventh Generation. Superior kinetic barriers, reinforced armor plating, capable of self repair and maintenance over extended periods of time. A unit of marines captured it out in the field, somewhere on the planet Haestrom. They ripped out its transponder, effectively cutting of the geth's chances of calling for help. And now it was at the mercy of the Scientific Research and Development labs.

Its singular optic glowed a vibrant white, its calculating gaze examined Jortun's every move.

Ignoring its stare, the quarian opened the case, and withdrew today's experiment. What he held in his hands was an impromptu weapon his father had crafted while out on deployment, and with his significant pull within the Migrant Fleet Marines, sent it to Jortun at R&D.

_I think you'll have fun with this one, kid._ The note had said. _Used this thing to kill an armature. Just be careful though, it packs a hell of a wallop._

Hefting the weapon, he dug it into his arm and wrapped both hands around it tightly. The weapon thrummed to life in his hands, the coils that wrapped around the barrel began to glow neon blue.

"Sosen, begin recording."

"_As you wish." _The VI simply whispered. Two hover-cams appeared out of recesses in the wall, one watching Jortun, the other fixated on the captive geth.

"Beginning firing test at," a quick calculation in his head, "twenty meters." He raised the gun, "Firing in three…two…one."

Pure lightning and superheated plasma was thrown from the coil-wrapped barrel, arcing several meters forward, but no where near the mechanical test subject. Jortun fought against the sharp pushback the weapon was giving as he marched forward, "Ineffective at twenty meters! Closing to fifteen!"

The geth's optic widened ever so slightly, it gave off a mechanical hiss and then a series of distorted clicks. Stray arcs of electricity made contact with its shoulder, cracking the armor that encased the geth's shoulder and revealed several tubes wrapped tightly around each other like muscle.

"Minimum contact and damage at fifteen meters!" Heat began to seep through the gloves that wrapped tightly around his hands, the coils turned white-hot.

Suddenly the geth's shoulder exploded in a fountain of sparks, the milky white 'blood' that seemed to be a trait among all geth units sprayed forth, painting the wall behind the machine. Its clicks of worry turned into mechanical wails. Snake-like headed whipping back and forth, the machine attempted to rip itself free of its restraints as it was slowly engulfed in streams of lightning and plasma.

Soon its arm melted off at the elbow, the plating that covered its chest shattered into a thousand molten pieces. The machine's head exploded in a brilliant ball of reddish-white flame, engulfing its entire body.

Jortun immediately released the trigger, the weapon starting to burn his hands through his gloves.

"Sosen? Log in effective range at fifteen meters or closer." A hovering platform lifted up from the floor, where Jortun gently laid the weapon upon it. "Have this weapon sent to Colonel Xen for further testing, see if she can improve upon its design; fifteen meters is too dangerous when it comes to the geth." His eyes examined the firearm one final time. "She'll have fun with this one."

"_Right away, sir."_

The platform, with the gun in tow, sped away as Jortun approached the metallic corpse with interest.

_The range is too short, _he analyzed with a grin, _but Dad was right. This thing makes up for it with pure destruction._

"That was quite a show, Mister…?"

Jortun whirled around to find a human clad in Alliance armor standing before him, hands behind his back.

_Scanning._ The suit VI whispered to Jortun. _Name: Charles Ryker. Rank: Staff Commander_

"Reegar. Jortun'Reegar vas Rayya nar Iktomi." The quarian speedily replied. "Can I help you, human? By all accounts, no one should even be in here save for the R&D crew…which you obviously aren't a part of."

A chuckle, icy blue eyes behind a thin visor narrowed, "Sorry for intruding, Mister Reegar. But I wanted to know…" Ryker approached the geth slowly, roughly picking up its severed arm off the ground. Holding it up by its fingers, white 'blood' poured onto the floor. "What would happen if that weapon was used against an organic?"

"There wouldn't be an organic left." The quarian curtly replied, scanning the carcass with his omni-tool.

Ryker liked the sound of that. Dropping the severed limb, the Commander leaned against the wall next to Jortun, "Despite previous arrangements, it seems the batarians have decided they want mankind's attention, and in turn, the quarian's as well."

Ignoring the human's ramblings, Jortun extracted what was left of the geth's memory core. He knew it had wiped itself clean when it was apprehended, but maybe by examining what was left he could figure out a way to counteract the memory wipe of any future geth.

When Ryker didn't get a response, he simply watched the man work. His three-fingered hands moved deftly over the geth, dismantling what was left of it piece by piece. It was quite an impressive sight. Suddenly the quarian paused once he realized Ryker wasn't going to leave.

"What do you need, human?" He questioned with an annoyed huff, labored breath beginning to fog up his visor. "I'm sure there's something far more productive you could be doing than simply watching me."

Ryker grinned behind his helmet, "I've been told you're lead director for experimental technologies here in the Flotilla."

"Oh _Keelah_…" Jortun hissed, "I am one of _three _directors. Colonel Xen and Legate Zurran are also overseers when it comes to the development of tech." He glared at the human with silver eyes, his frustration and irritation about as subtle as a fireworks display.

"I see…well I was directed to you, since you were overlooking a project that has acquired my interest."

"I feel _so_ honored, human." Jortun hissed as he marched to the far side of the firing range, straight for the exit. "And which 'project' caught your esteemed interest?"

Ryker followed the alien, his voice felt like ice as he spoke, "The EMP."

Freezing mid-step, the quarian immediately turned a pressed a finger against the human's chest. Anger immediately seared into his tone, "How the hell does a _bosh'tet _human like you know about the EMP?"

_Looks like I hit a nerve_, Ryker thought triumphantly.

"What," the Commander said as he brushed the quarian's finger away. "Didn't expect a '_bosh'tet_ human' to be able to hack your personal logs? Interesting reading, by the way. You really love abusing geth, don't you, Mister Reegar?"

Jortun growled, but refused to speak, silver orbs staring down blue.

"If you don't mind," Ryker began, smile returning. "I'd like to see your little undertaking for myself. If not, I can always contact security about the exorbitant number of living geth you've kept aboard the Grand Admiral's ship."

"No!" Jortun suddenly shouted, losing control of himself for only a moment. Quickly inhaling, the quarian pulled himself back together quickly, "I need those geth, Commander Ryker. It's imperative for our eventual reclamation of Rannoch."

"Well than," the human motioned towards the exit. "Lead the way, Mister Reegar."

* * *

><p>Four geth were magnetically bound to panels that were erected from the floor. They surrounded a large spherical object in a diamond, each machine approximately ten meters away from it. The sphere gave a low pulse every other second, which kept the captive robots entranced.<p>

Suddenly the sphere lit up like a purple star, bathing the four geth in almost blinding light.

Their glowing optics went dark, all went limp, heads sagging over to one side or the other.

"Incredible!" Ryker whispered, eyes wide. No geth had ever been successfully disabled by a electromagnetic pulse before, ever. The machines had advanced so quickly after the Morning War that such tactics had proven to be ineffective. But there they were, beyond the protective barriers, seemingly inactive.

Immediately, Jortun rapped his finger against the thick glass, "Don't hold your breath. Look."

Ryker's eyes shifted back to the machines, who began to stir, their eyes glowing white as they powered back up.

"As you can see, the pulse can only disable them for a rather short time. The longest I've been able to log was roughly two and a half minutes, but I overloaded the EMP's core, nearly shutting down the _Rayya_ in the process." The man chuckled as he hooked his fingers around one another, "You wouldn't believe the lengths I had to go to in order to convince everyone it was a mere power fluctuation."

The Commander eyed the device with great interest. "I have much bigger plans in mind than merely disabling geth, Mister Reegar."

* * *

><p>"I still don't see the logic in taking the Citadel." Ensign Kalesh'Narl thought aloud as he looked over the <em>Koarra's<em> readings. "I don't see why the humans are willing to start a war with the Council races over one space station."

Karlan tried to ignore his subordinates as best he could while his eyes stared intently out the viewport, trying to silently observe the other ships in his lance go over their maneuvers.

"The Citadel isn't just any space station, Kalesh." Lieutenant Teth'Murdan spat back quickly. "Do you have any idea how much power you hold if you control the Citadel? You are the very center of galactic commerce and trade, and perhaps most importantly, you are the central point in the mass relay network. Humans have this saying; 'All roads lead to Rome'." Teth speedily read over a status report and then flicked it away from her screen, "All relays lead to the Citadel."

"But that doesn't fix the poor logic of taking the damned thing," Kalesh immediately responded as he shifted in his seat. "Okay, let's say we somehow successfully take the Citadel and force the asari, turian, and salarian fleets out of the system entirely. What then?"

He threw his hands to accentuate his point, accidentally smacking his screen in the process, "You're basically backing yourself into a corner once you have the station. It doesn't protect you from the inevitable retaliation at all! What are the benefits?" The Ensign sighed, "Plus, overthrowing the Council isn't a good idea. Total anarchy would reign!"

Just the mere mention of the Council left a sour taste in Teth's mouth, "The Council? They're a corrupt group of _bosh'tets _that care only for themselves. Otherwise, they would've helped us fight the geth three hundred years ago." The rage in her voice was becoming apparent. "Instead, while millions of us were getting slaughtered during the Uprisings, they banned us from the Citadel, telling us to never return! If they had done their damn jobs right in the first place, maybe none of this would've ever happened!"

Karlan finally interjected, "Lieutenant, calm down, please."

The woman tensed for a moment, then her composure returned, "Yes, Admiral. Sorry, sir."

Rising from his chair, Karlan marched across the bridge. He wondered what the Grand Admiral was thinking right now, about this whole mess.

To what extent would the quarian people be dragged into seemingly impending conflict between mankind and the batarians? How much of the fleet would be forced to fight alongside the human's in a war they had no business being a part of? How many men and women would have to die for the humans?

All these questions troubled the Admiral. But with this trouble came one relief.

It seems as if the Alliance's grand plan to take the Citadel was put on indefinite hold. And this wait, however temporary, would give Karlan and the rest of the Admiralty some time to find a way to convince the Grand Admiral to follow a different path.

It was the best he could hope for at this point.

* * *

><p>Peace.<p> 


	12. Chapter 12

"…so in conclusion, humanity, stay strong…For more aliens aboard the Citadel turn to our cause everyday, accept them with open arms as brethren." A sigh. "And as for the Alliance…do _not _be fooled. If they truly intended to help our cause, they would have rushed for this station the moment Act 21-H expired! Instead, they are attempting to start a needless conflict with the Batarian Hegemony! But fear not, for we will soon have what we truly desire. A true home for mankind!"

Jacob Krieger smiled into the first hovercam, waiting for the feed to cut. When it finally did, he loosened his tie and slumped into his chair behind him. The man eyed the clock on the far side of the wall.

As it slowly ticked on, the man gave a weary sigh. Krieger was running out of time.

The economy took a hard hit from human interests pulling out, but the Citadel was by no means dependent on mankind, and they were steadily recovering. They were keeping C-Sec at bay, but rumor had it that Sparatus was ready to deploy soldiers to quell and subdue the human resistance. That worried him the most.

Krieger had a decent supply of fighters at his disposal, but very few of them had any actual combat training, fewer were still alive.

The man knew from the get-go that this would be a war of attrition until the Alliance entered the picture. It was the one thing he truly depended on, the factor in his plan that he didn't have control over. But he believed he could win, Krieger thought he had all the pieces in place.

Constant raids on police stations and outposts all over the station would keep C-Sec on edge, unsure of where to strike back.

The Conscription, as he began to call it, was an unfortunate but necessary action. Through careful coordination and ideal timing, Krieger's men were able to disrupt the Citadel's deportations and forcibly add more numbers to his ranks. It would have been considered a perfectly executed operation until some of his own men got trigger-happy.

They began to fire indiscriminately into the large crowds Kyrix Point, and those responsible Krieger had personally dealt with.

But regardless Krieger felt the noose slowly begin to tighten around his neck.

Sighing again the man rose from his chair, placed a cigarette in his mouth, and began a long walk to his quarters.

* * *

><p>Gavin couldn't sleep.<p>

It was easily two or three in the morning, station time. And he couldn't sleep.

Stumbling out of his tiny bed, the barkeep rose to his feet and left the cramped closet-turned-bedroom and into a hallway.

He looked out a nearby window and gazed down at the street below. Dark forms of humans snaked between the wrecks of cars, darting across the street and heading out into the night. Those were mostly likely scavenger teams, forging deep into the wards looking for supplies to bring back to this apartment complex. Squinting hard, Gavin noticed adjacent buildings had more people on the rooftops armed with _rocket launchers._

_No wonder C-Sec hasn't raided this place,_ he thought.

"Excuse me."

Gavin turned to find an asari waiting in a nearby doorway, a couple of feet down the hall. Her azure hands were smeared with dark blood, almost making her fingers look burnt.

"I need your help, please." She disappeared back inside, with Gavin rushing in behind her.

Dim ceiling lights kept the room illuminated, but the barkeep could easily make out several people resting on the floor. A few of them shifted nervously as Gavin entered, noticing the weapon he had slung over his shoulder. He forget he had even brought it.

"Miss," the man whispered, "what do you need me for?"

The asari didn't say a word, she just kept walking further into the room, with the barkeep close behind. Stepping over a sleeping couple, the asari kneeled by a blanket-covered form. Slowly, she pulled back the blanket, revealing a bloodied human female.

The extent of her wounds shocked the barkeep. Pale white skin was stained with thick blood, what was once delicate was shredded to ribbons of gnarled flesh held together by hastily put together bandages. The girl was barely breathing, slight tremors of her chest rising and falling was the only indication. Eyes were clamped shut, her whole face was contorted in an expression of unimaginable agony.

Gavin felt like he was going to be sick. He turned to the asari, eyes wide, "Why did you want me to see this?"

Cupping the human's cheeks with delicate palms, the asari's eyes began to water.

"We…were at your bar when the Act was cut down." The alien says slowly. "C-Sec picked us up immediately after we left the bar, escorted us back to our apartment. Diana," she gently rubs her thumbs against the human temples, "was hysterical. We both didn't what to do."

Streams of tears finally rushed down the alien's otherwise perfect cheeks. "I finally decided that I was going to leave with Diana. If she couldn't stay here, then I was coming with her to the border worlds."

The erratic rising and falling of her chest ceased, Diana's face relaxed.

"We were almost on board a transport when these…_insurrectionists_ decided to 'rescue' us." Her hands began to glow from uncontrolled biotics, the asari then released her mate's face and clenched her digits into a fist. "It was _chaos_. So many people, just rushing in every direction."

She raised a fist and slammed it down knuckles-first into the metal floor, sending small biotic tremors outward.

"We got separated. Gunfire forced us in opposite directions." A sharp hiss as the woman drew in a pained breath. "I saw dozens of people, men, women…_children_…just get shot. Put down just for being in the way of our 'rescuers'."

The ground shook as she slammed a biotics-charged fist into the ground again. Sleeping bystanders woke, fearfully scurrying to the far corners of the room. Most immediately ran for the door.

Fresh blood started to drip from her knuckles as she raised her hand again.

"After what felt like hours of running and hiding from the bloodshed, Diana contacted me on my omni-tool. She was trapped inside a store, a firebomb went off right outside the front door." The biotics swirling about over the asari's skin faded for a moment as she pulled the blanket back over her mate. Her anger seemed to dissipate as well when she covered Diana's face.

Gavin slowly began to back away, taking his shotgun in both hands. A nervous finger tapped against the trigger-guard.

Both returned immediately, "Others got to her first. Citadel Security officers. A salarian Lieutenant and his partner. They…they…" Her biotics flared even brighter, enveloping her entire form. "They fucking shot her!"

She brought her fist down one final time, sending a wave of energy over the barkeep.

He expected to smash straight into the wall behind him, but a meaty arm grabbed his shirt and slowed him. The barkeep looked up to find Archer standing over him, bright blue eyes glowing from seemingly ethereal energy.

Archer was also a biotic.

"Gavin." The man slowly whispered, eyes locked on the alien in the center of the room like a calculating predator. "Get behind me."

Stumbling back to his feet, the barkeep got behind Archer, who had since produced a pistol in his left hand.

The asari stood, blood trickling from her knuckles as she took a protective stance over her deceased mate. "Get the hell away from me…you monsters."

Archer clenched his right fist and marched for the asari, ignoring the alien's demands. The alien threw a fist forward, sending a blast of energy for the approaching man.

Like a wave crashing against a rock, the biotic energy flowed around Archer, bright purple barriers flaring as the blast failed to even hinder his advance. Panicking, the asari attempted to throw another blast his way, only for her wrist to be caught in a vise-like grip. The cold barrel of a pistol appeared underneath her chin.

"Don't make me do this, ma'am." The man said, forcing her head back with his firearm. "You're putting yourself and everyone in this building in danger." His finger hovered over the trigger, anticipating her next move. "Let's stop this, right now."

The woman glared into Archer's eyes, the rage in her stare was apparent as a blaze on a dark night. After several moments, however, she collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

Archer disengaged his pistol and shoved it back in its holster while making a sharp one-eighty. He grabbed Gavin by the sleeve, "Come on, Gavin. We need your help."

* * *

><p>Red sand flowed over the twin sun-baked dunes of Callista, a harsh desert world deep within the Terminus System. In the distance, the largest Alliance element zero plant on planet lay in ruins.<p>

Mortar fire had destroyed the two main processing plants, while what appeared to be small arms fire destroyed the various adjacent buildings. All had been empty for days before, however, in an elaborate ruse set up by the Alliance to lure out batarian forces in the sector.

The plan seemed to have worked, as a company-sized force of the aliens came down to capture the facility, only to run into a defensive line set up by an equally-sized group of humans and krogan.

And the humans were beating back the batarian advance, as they of started to fall into a steady retreat. That was one fact that seemed to surprise Mordin Solus' fellow STG compatriots.

Fellow STG agents Irayto and Wiks insisted that the batarian infantry held an advantage both physically and tactically over the homo sapiens. One for their sheer size and strength over a common human, and two for the years of mandated Hegemony military service; which bred supposedly fearless (and some say near-psychotic) warriors.

Mordin, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as shocked. If there was one thing the Alliance could do well, it was pick strong allies. Without proper training and equipment, a typical Alliance marine squad would normally not survive a close-quarters engagement with a physically superior foe. But with the krogan fighting by their sides, filling the role as organic 'tanks', humanity could win any close-quarters ground engagement.

The grating voice of Lieutenant Yar Irayto pulled Mordin from his thoughts, the salarian's dark eye focused on the scope of his custom-built sniper rifle, "Hmph. The humans are winning." Irayto adjusted his scope, following a krogan warrior as it impaled a batarian soldier on the large bayonet it had attached to its shotgun. "With a good amount of assistance from their krogan allies."

Laying beside him in the sand, Sergeant Wiks responded in a hushed tone as he watched a similar scene, "Still, the krogan _are_ being used sparingly. For every krogan there must be at least fifteen humans. Perhaps the Alliance Military was not in the precarious situation we all believed they were in."

"Not about their situation." Mordin interjected with a snort. "All about leadership. The men, women, and krogan are performing so well for a reason. Top-notch officer."

Wiks gave a sideways glance, "Who? A majority of the Alliance's top commanders were killed during the insurrections on their homeworld."

"Correct, but there is one I'm continually being impressed by." Mordin peered through the scope of his own rifle, and then directed his comrades, "Look towards front of center line. Human in blue armor. Currently attempting to behead a batarian with an omni-blade."

The salarian waited for his men to find the person in question and then continued, "Charles Ryker, Staff Commander, Systems Alliance Marine Corps. Before that, he was a young Lieutenant, an N7. Needless to say what that says of his combat skills, but also proficient in language. Able to will others around him to follow." Pausing, the STG stared at the man, crosshairs finding his eyes. He inhaled the thick, hot air through his nose. "Ryker sent personally to forge the alliance between humanity, quarians, and krogan."

Irayto grit his teeth, "This one does not know just how much bloodshed he is going to cause, does he?" The salarian let his slender finger brush up against the trigger ever so slightly, "One bullet, and thousands, maybe millions of lives could be saved. Maybe the alliances fall apart. What do you think, Sergeant? Think I should take him out?"

"From this range," Wiks clucked his tongue as he calculated the distances in his head, "the shot is doable. Along with the high-caliber round that your rifle fires, Ryker's head would be cleaved in half, if not torn completely off."

Wishful thinking was all it was to Mordin. All three knew their orders. Observe the developing situation, do not interfere unless discovered. And the STG were _never_ discovered.

But Mordin couldn't help but insert his opinion, "Doesn't matter." The Commander stated bluntly. "His death, at least at this point, would be meaningless. Treaties already signed. Pacts formed."

At this point in the battle before the STG agents, the humans had a decisive victory within their grasp. Callista and her element zero would still be theirs, for the time being.

Mordin pushed off the top of the dune and slid down towards the bottom, his compatriots soon followed. In unison they activated their stealth veils, disappearing under the twin suns of Callista.

* * *

><p>Well hey there, everybody. Pushing through school, personal issues, addiction to some great video games, and various other things, I am back.<p>

Please review, for I need to gauge whether or not my rust is gone or not. If it's still there, forgive me and I'll correct any mistakes as soon as I see them. Hope you enjoyed.

Peace.


	13. Chapter 13

Harland couldn't stop shaking. His vessel was slowly approaching the one place he never though he would see again.

The Citadel.

It looked the same from a distance, fleets still patrolled the space around the station, thousands of ships ready to act upon a moment's notice. But as they drew closer, the turmoil that was taking hold was apparent. A burning building from one of the Wards billowed smoke which lazily danced away from the station.

Fiddling with his thumbs, the Ambassador called out to his AI companion, "Niri…can you give me a complete recap of the situation down there?"

Nirvana appeared before him, a grim look on her face, "Do you want the optimistic version?"

Harland didn't respond.

The AI sighed, "When the deportation order went through, humanity was given five days to pick up shop and leave. Dissent grew within factions of the humans on the station, chiefly from businessman and former political activist Jacob Krieger. He began recruiting several soldiers of fortune to his cause, mostly highly trained human mercenaries with former ties to the Alliance Military or private corporations." Nirvana's naked form shifted, disappearing from Harland's sight for a moment, only to reappear sitting in the seat next to him. "But Krieger seemed to have realized that he wouldn't have enough men for his little insurrection, so he began branching out and took in volunteers who were willing to fight for him. Still, his numbers were not high enough so he raided the deportation outposts the Council had established. They started a forcible recruitment."

The muscles in Harland's neck and jaw tightened as he could imagine armed soldiers rounding up droves of people, putting guns in their hands and making them fight. What baffled Harland was the 'why'. Why did Krieger need all these people?

He had to know that a sustained fight on a space station, especially with so few actual soldiers and limited resources, would be nigh impossible to maintain. What was his endgame?

Nirvana continued, breaking up his train of thought.

"Since then, rioting has taken place, especially within the more human-centric districts of the Wards. C-Sec has done its best and has made several arrests, but has yet to apprehend Krieger or any of his mercenaries." The AI paused as she accessed more information. "They seem to be using tactics likened to insurgent groups: car bombings, singling out and eliminating ranking C-Sec officers, firebombing various law enforcement outposts, and assorted hit-and-run tactics."

"What about C-Sec's response to all this?"

Linking up with C-Sec's secure network, Nirvana immediately cut through the several firewalls in place and began to decode encrypted reports bit by bit. It took her less than a few nanoseconds.

"They've increased patrols throughout the Wards, along with deploying several specialized units to raid specific areas of interest, where several arrests have been made." She paused for half a second, dissecting new information. "But they're not making meaningful headway. They're afraid that a large operation could cause a bloodbath, and too many would die due to the lack of medi-gel on station. Ever since the Sirta Foundation picked up its assets and left, hospitals began to ration medi-gel."

Harland rubbed his forehead. He was basically walking into what was more or less a war zone.

And his mission?

He was asked by Vice Admiral McCordus to renegotiate the terms of humanity on the Citadel. It was a laughable endeavor. Harland knew the Councilors had made their minds up, and they almost never reversed a decision. This was going to be an exercise in futility.

"Harland?"

The man looked towards the AI.

"Was this anything like what happened on Earth?"

He gave Nirvana a quizzical look. "Why do you ask?"

Her holographic features gave him an almost confused look back. "While my access to Alliance records and databases is vast, I was deliberately designed to be unable to access or hack into records of anything predating the First Contact War." Fluorescent eyes scanned Harland's cool blue orbs. "What happened on Earth, Harland? What led to its near-total destruction?"

The Ambassador sighed as his head fell into his hands. While he was not there for the actual conflicts, he was _certainly_ well-educated on it. As an Ambassador, he had to know Earth's history from top to bottom, charters and treaties, technological developments, wars, important individuals, he had to know it. On top of all that, he had received the best education that one could ask for when he was a teenager, being taught by some of the very best professors Earth had.

Recalling what he had researched, he slowly began to tell her just how Earth, and the Alliance, came to be in its current state.

After the discovery of alien ruins on Mars in 2148, the very foundations of the political environment on Earth was rocked to the core. Mankind had irrefutable proof that they were not the only beings in the galaxy, and they could not sit idly by if these aliens were to return to the Sol System. Not a year later, eighteen of the world's most powerful nations, led primarily by the United States of America, Japan, China, Russia, the UK, and Brazil, drafted and quickly ratified the Systems Alliance Compact.

A forty-member parliament was formed, creating a central governing body for the newly found coalition. After that, a set of laws and declarations were created, followed by a single currency that all member nations now used.

This in turn had created something that never been successfully accomplished before; a unified planetary government. A military force was quickly created soon after the Compact went into effect.

The Systems Alliance Military was eventually formed out of three distinct branches: an Army, an Air Force, and a Navy, with a Marine Corps becoming a specialized infantry branch for the Navy.

Every member nation of the Alliance sent a large number of its own troops, vehicles, and equipment to fill out the ranks of the newly formed government's military. Ideas and technology were shared amongst the collaboration of so many nations, with cultural differences cast aside in favor of progress. Never before had a planet experienced such growth before.

Many great minds dreamed of not only seeing the entirety of Earth's home system, but the galaxy as well. Those dreams came to fruition with the advent of FTL travel and mass effect field technology, as the first mass relay was discovered by the dwarf-planet Pluto, once thought to be its moon Charon.

The Arcturus Stream was discovered at the other end of the relay, and the Alliance drew up plans to build neighboring stations to each system's mass relay. The Von Braun would be built in Pluto's orbit, initially meant to be a scientific research and development station. That meant what would eventually become Arcturus Station, soon to be the nerve center of the Alliance's military machine, would be built on the other side.

"This was of time of cultural growth, assimilation, and unity. It seemed at first that humanity had reached new heights, finally putting aside its petty differences for something greater," Harland said quietly, his eyes locked with Nirvana's. "But…But this period of cooperation didn't last much longer."

As Arcturus Station was in the adolescent stages of construction, the Alliance began to experience a rather large political rift back on Earth. Many within the military and political body had reservations when it came to the pressuring of other nations to join the Systems Alliance.

Many mid to lower-ranked officials objected to the forceful recruitment other nations, while most of the highly-ranked ones claimed this forced assimilation was necessary in order for the Alliance to survive.

Young naval Captains like Anderson and Hackett were quite vocal that forcing people to join a cause they did not believe in would only lead to disaster, but the older, 'wiser' voices of Admirals like Drescher, Ho-Chen, and Karlsson disagreed.

The Alliance needed to be bolstered, they claimed, because a large compact like it would inevitably fail if they relied on a volunteer system to strengthen their numbers. Admiral Kastanie Drescher stated that Earth had to stand as a united whole if an alien race were to ever attack mankind, whether or not they wanted to.

Anderson called it tyranny.

The subject was a key point within parliament, and when voting came down to decide whether or not a peacetime draft was to be instated, the voting was split twenty-three to seventeen in favor of the draft. Dozens of protests soon came about, but all were ignored or forcibly put down.

Soon nations like Mexico, South Africa, the Korean Union, and several others were forcibly integrated into the Systems Alliance, some by economic pressure, others by political gunpoint. Their citizenry were subjected to a peacetime draft as well.

Dissent grew within the Alliance's ranks, clear lines were being drawn amongst parliament members, amongst the different branches, and amongst soldiers in individual units.

Things came to a head on April 7th, 2153, when a pair of Alliance ambassadors on a trip to Nigeria attempted to force themselves into the National Assembly Building. They foolhardily demanded of their senate to sign into the Systems Alliance Compact.

Harland almost smiled, "From what I've read, Nigerian soldiers grabbed the ambassadors and brought them before the Nigerian president, John Adeyemi, who had been discussing an important trade deal with the senate that day." The man could almost see the Nigerian president's incredulous expression as these two ambassadors were making demands of his people. "Adeyemi said to these two, 'You come into the very center of my nation's government, and attempt to force a free people to sign into a coalition that they have no wish to join?' When the two had nothing to say to the man, he merely flicked his hand and said, 'Take them away.'"

As the Nigerians held the Alliance ambassadors prisoner, a powder keg of events was set off. Adeyemi went before the world and declared open war against the Systems Alliance, citing its constant political and economic pressure as hostile actions against the free people of his homeland. Several nations immediately came to Nigeria's side, including a handful of member nations, much to the shock of many Admirals.

At first, no immediate action was taken against what the Alliance labeled as 'rogue states', confident that it could stifle it them without the use of military action. When nonviolent means proved ineffective however, Parliament held another vote, this time for a drastic change of tactics.

On April 23rd, the Alliance attempted to squash this resistance through brute force via orbital bombardments and massive troop surges.

After the first orbital payload destroyed a barracks in southern Nigeria, Hackett and Anderson could no longer stand idly by and put into motion a series of carefully organized events that led to the schism within Systems Alliance.

The civil war that followed was called by some historians as the bloodiest conflict ever in human history.

Entire cities, such as Chicago, New York, Tokyo, and Johannesburg, turned into devastated hellholes. Each city saw entire divisions of soldiers fight for control, with millions of civilians caught in the crossfire.

The battles in space were massive, some military historians to this day still cannot account for just how many ships were destroyed. Harland had once heard that soldiers could see the battles taking place groundside, and could often see the dead husks of crippled vessels falling back to Earth, burning white hot with the fires of reentry.

All the while Arcturus Station was hotly contested, Parliament having long abandoned the station as both sides constantly took control of it from one another. It was once stated that over the course of a week ownership of Arcturus shifted at least a dozen times.

As the civil war dragged on, Anderson soon realized that the key to winning the war and putting an end to the bloodshed was cutting off the head of command, a group whom he had referred to as 'The Big Three'. They consisted of newly-dubbed Marshal Admiral Kastanie Drescher, General Felix Perelkin, and Admiral Jun Ho-Chen.

He was convinced that if The Big Three were taken down, anyone who rose in their place as commanders wouldn't be able to sufficiently fill the void of power, thus bringing an end to this conflict. Both Hackett and Anderson knew however, that taking down these three in open combat would be all but impossible.

For this task Anderson had several spies and agents within the opposition to carry out the necessary deeds.

But Anderson wasn't the only one who had a similar idea. Hackett, who was the acting Vice Admiral at the time, fell victim to a spy amongst his command staff. One night as he overlooking some plans in his private quarters aboard his vessel, he and his wife were found brutally stabbed to death.

It was because of this that the Alliance had such tight security aboard Arcturus today, reminding Harland of the several security checkpoints that led into the Nexus. Never again was a Vice Admiral to fall because of lax security.

"None of this tells of how Earth came to be in its current state, though. The widespread destruction on its surface, the nuclear fallout?" Nirvana questioned quietly, almost overwhelmed by all the information she was being given.

"Towards the end," the Ambassador sighed, weary from recounting this little history lesson, "the Alliance we know today had started gaining major victory after victory against the opposition. Eventually, we managed to find and start pushing back the remnants of Ho-Chen's fleet. He was the last living member of The Big Three, since Perelkin was killed via car bomb and Marshal Admiral Drescher was poisoned." Harland stopped as he felt the hull of his shuttle shake. They had finally docked, magnetic moorings gripping onto them. "But Ho-Chen had gotten paranoid when people started dying around him, and took to one final stand above Earth."

With Vice Admiral David Anderson fighting within the continental United States, overseeing an operation to evacuate civilians from the ruins of Chicago, Ho-Chen fighting off an attack in the dreadnought SSV _Helios_.

Kalan McCordus was the one leading the battle against Ho-Chen, and who some historians blame for the destruction of Earth. Though Harland believed without a doubt there was nothing he could have done, nor was any of what happened his fault.

"What we didn't know was that the _Helios _was loaded with what was considered ancient weaponry. Cruise missiles, very old GARDIAN laser prototypes, and above all, a nuclear payload." Harland remembered the raw footage from the bow cameras of the lead cruiser as if fired shell after shell into the _Helios_. "No one to this day knows how Ho-Chen got antiquated nuclear weapons on board, but I know for certain he had no intention of bombing Earth with it. Those nukes were meant for McCordus and his ships."

"One would think he would adopt a scorched-earth policy, destroy several strategic areas on earth where opposition was held. The blast radius would wipe out entire armored columns, entire divisions of soldiers." Nirvana quipped, fully versed on the destructive potential the _Helios _had.

"You got to remember that Ho-Chen had his own people on the ground too, Niri." Harland quickly reminded the AI. "Ho-Chen was a brilliant tactician and commander, but above all, he was definitely no butcher. He didn't want to see any more people die than absolutely necessary...No, McCordus pushed too hard, had his ships mercilessly beat down on the _Helios _and any ship that came to defend it."

More raw footage played back across Harland's mind. A crippled dreadnought, fire belching out from countless breaches in its hull, the ship itself listing lazily to one side as any sort of stabilization systems had failed long ago. Then one more shell was fired.

It punched through the ship, just slightly off the port side of the bow, and drove all the way to the drive core. The _Helios'_ drive core went critical, and set off a chain reaction that decimated the entirety of the ship, which included the weapon bays.

By the time McCordus could be told by his ship's VI that nuclear shells were lodged free, several were burning through the Earth's atmosphere.

All Kalan McCordus could do was watch in horror as his home planet was being ravaged by nuclear hellfire. Thousands of miles of land turned from a vibrant green to a pure inferno.

"What was left of Alliance Command attempted to get into contact with Vice Admiral Anderson, but not a single hail got through. People were clamoring for a rescue mission until the Vice Admiral's area of operations got hit by an errant shell..." The Ambassador suddenly felt tired, and his weary tone reflected it. "And then...well, on March 21st, 2155, the Alliance Civil War had ended...and in a sense, so had Earth. Roughly seventy-five to eighty percent of the planet was covered in fallout, and those few areas that were blessed with neither a direct blast or a wave of radiation were never quite the same."

Harland rose from his seat as he knew a Citadel Customs team would come to do a security sweep of the vessel, and he himself would be searched as well.

"Then whatever was left of the Alliance unified again, put on a brave face, and tried to rebuild," Nirvana finished, awestruck by the massive amount of information just given to her.

"Precisely," the human replied. "And then came the First Contact War two years later." His eyes drifted to a nearby viewport, where one of the long arms to the Citadel seemed to stretch on for miles in the distance. "Maybe the Council's right. Maybe we don't belong here..."

His throat seemed to close up on him for a moment.

"...but damn it. Where else do we have to go?"

* * *

><p>Soooo. Hey guys. I've been in college. So that's why this hasn't been around.<p>

I'll try to update when I can, but grades and college come first.

But most importantly, tell me what you guys thought. Feedback, feedback, feedback. Please.

Peace.


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